


A Flight of Birds

by allthespiceyoullwant



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, if there's anything else I should tag please tell me, tw: suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 17:29:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 24,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4109134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthespiceyoullwant/pseuds/allthespiceyoullwant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When infamous pirate Captain Petyr Baelish is forced to team up with a mysterious young woman who has come to collect a long-forgotten debt, he sets sail for his most dangerous adventure yet. For Alayne Stone is more than she seems. As Petyr and Alayne get to know each other, a time of turmoil brews in Westeros. Soon Petyr must choose where his allegiance lies. And his decision has far-reaching effects. The future of the realm is at stake... For when birds fly, winds are changing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

It was a foggy day, but that didn't bother her. She had other things to worry about. If the story her mother had told her was true, Captain Baelish was her only hope. She clung to that thought desperately. If gossips were right, it should be easy enough to find him. _But what if the rumors are false?_ , a voice inside her head asked. She pushed her doubts away. She _would_ find a way. First to Captain Baelish, then to gain his trust, and then to... She stopped herself. _Better not get ahead of yourself._ First, the funeral.

 

It was a small procession that laid her family's bones to rest in the crypts beneath the castle she had once loved. The castle had been her home, full of warmth and life. Now it only reminded her of death and doom. It was disgusting. When the doors to the crypts finally closed, she took a deep breath, steeling herself for the next step. _Could I really? My own home? Where I spent my entire childhood?_ But it wasn't her home any more. And she was no longer a child. It had to be done.

“Burn it.”, she commanded. “Burn it all. Burn the castle to the ground.” Her family's loyal servants looked at her in horror.

“My lady... You cannot mean that. It's the grief talking... You must think of the future. You are the heiress of your father's lands. Soon you will get married to the young Lord Bolton and rule the North with him. You shall give him strong sons to follow after him. Think of them.”

But she would not change her mind. “The Others may take the young Lord Bolton”, she announced. And with that, she suddenly turned away and rushed deeper into the fog.

 


	2. Petyr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that we finally meet the Bae, I want to give you a little backstory.
> 
> The fic takes places in Westeros some time after the Red Wedding. Pretty much all characters are smilar to their TV show counterpart, except Petyr of course, who is a pirate. I will introduce his background over the next chapters so you'll know what his deal is.  
> Bear with me until chapter 8... That's when it all becomes clear.

Petyr could smell the stench of Gulltown from a mile away. He couldn't help but smile. “Ah, finally”, he uttered. “Home.”

He knew he was not exactly welcome in more than a few parts of the town, but he still had some loyal friends in the city. All he'd have to do was get there without being noticed. When the ship made berth he was quick to sneak off unseen – he hadn't paid for the voyage, so he didn't want to linger.

 

All in all, he knew he could consider himself lucky. After the storm that had sunk his ship and killed most of his crew, he had drifted in the waters for days holding onto an empty barrel. Finally he had washed up on the beach of some god-forsaken island... Or so he had thought. Upon closer inspection, the island had turned out to be Taros, the infamous smugglers' keep. It should have been easy enough to find a ship to take him back to Gulltown. But Petyr soon learned that his reputation had sunk to an all-time low after word had spread he had been foolish enough to set sail with the storm approaching. The surviving men of his crew abandoned him and were hired by other captains on the spot. They had sailed with the infamous Captain Petyr Baelish after all, and that still held value.

But nobody had wanted to take him on his ship. “You are cursed, Petyr”, Damon, one of his oldest friends, had explained. “It's bad luck to have you on board. The gods are angry, that's why they sent the storm. No, no, you better stay here on Taros... Old Spicey sure could use some help at the inn.”

The thought of giving up smuggling and becoming the apprentice of an old innkeeper with a wooden leg and only one eye disgusted Petyr more than anything. He was a pirate, and he would never trade that in for anything. Yes, his situation was less than desirable – he had no ship, no crew, and people seemed to think he was cursed – but that would not stop him. He knew that his fortunes might change if he made it to Gulltown. He still had some friends in the city and he might be able to seize a ship and hire a crew there. Maybe Gulltown was a place were the name “Captain Petyr Baelish” still stroke fear and respect in the hearts of people who heard it. And if no one wanted to take him there... well, they wouldn't have to know he was on their ship.

That night, Petyr had sneaked onto the ship of Captain Randall Waters which had taken him to Gulltown without being noticed. Petyr smiled smugly. He _was_ one of the cleverest smugglers in Westeros, and what he lacked in physical strength, he made up for in cunning. Reaching Gulltown had been child's play.

 

 _Yes, it's been an eventful couple of weeks_ , he thought to himself as he skulked off. _But I still need a ship, a crew, and a new destination._

His first stop was the house of Wilfred Glaston. Petyr had helped build the old man's empire by smuggling intricate lace from Myr across the Narrow Sea and selling it to the merchant for a reasonable price. Within a few years, dresses with Glaston's lace were the latest fashion among highborn ladies in Gulltown and later all of the Vale, and Glaston had made a small fortune. Petyr was sure his friend would be willing to help him now.

He made his way through the streets of Gulltown, past fishmongers, brothels, and inns. This city was vibrant and energizing and it felt good to be home. Before Petyr could reach the main square he turned left into a less crowded alley. It was a small detour, but he couldn't bring himself to cross the open place. _Old habits die hard_ , he thought to himself as he hurried on.

A few minutes later Petyr reached Glaston's inviting mansion. He had just raised his hand to knock on the door when something gave him pause. The door was not locked. _Strange_. Glaston had always been a very cautious man, especially after his business had prospered. Leaving the door unlocked on a gray day like this did not seem like him at all.

Carefully Petyr pushed the door a few inches open and peered inside. He saw nothing. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door entirely and slipped inside the building.

Darkness surrounded him and he waited for a while until his eyes had adjusted to the lighting. He saw nothing unusual, just the broad, glamorous hallway in which Glaston had greeted him with open arms so many times before. But there was a sick feeling in his stomach. Something was definitely wrong. Petyr carefully took a few steps further. He was not sure what would await him so he got out his dagger, just in case. Then he moved to the next room without making a sound.

I was a cruel scene that presented itself to him. Gaston's lifeless, pale body was lying in a pool of his sticky, drying out blood. His throat was cut so deep it had almost disconnected his head. Down the hall lay the corpses of his wife and children, each just as mangled as his dear, old friend. There was a smell of rotten flesh in the air that made Petyr's eyes water and turned his insides. “Seven hells”, he muttered under his breath. Glaston had been a very dear friend to Petyr for many years. That he had found such a gruesome and violent death hurt Petyr deeply. _The poor bastard did not deserve this._

He thought quickly. As far as he knew Glaston did not have many enemies. Nothing about this made any sense to him. But Petyr could not afford to be seen. He had to bring as much distance between himself and the scene as possible. Without a sound he escaped into the night.


	3. Alayne

Alayne arrived in Gulltown on a rainy day. Dark clouds hung in the sky and colored the city gray. She felt at ease at once. With her dark hair and her simple, gray woolen cloak she blended in perfectly. The road had been long and dangerous, but she had made it to Gulltown unharmed and still with some money to spare. She could not believe her luck. Finally, an accomplishment.

Suddenly her fathers words echoed through her head. “The first stars are not always the brightest, my love. More oft than not they fade and the night seems darker still. It is the stars that shine through the bleakest night that guide your way home.”

_ Home _ ... but she didn't have a home any more. And her father was dead. Alayne pushed the thoughts aside. She had to find Captain Baelish. Alayne knew he sailed under a black flag with a silver mockingbird. Maybe she would see his ship in the harbor or at least meet someone who knew where he was. Again she wondered what he might look like. She had heard rumors about the infamous Captain Petyr Baelish and he had taken shape in her imagination, but she doubted he was as handsome as she imagined.  _ He has probably lost some limbs over the years _ , she reminded herself. But she still could not cast off a feeling of faint excitement.

 

Her excitement and optimism were tamed after three hours at the docks. She had not seen a ship with a mockingbird anywhere. The few sailors she had asked about Captain Baelish all talked just long enough to her to curse him to the seven hells and then went on their way. And she didn't dare ask too many people about Captain Baelish to not raise suspicions.

And it had been raining all day. What had started as just the faintest hint of mist soon became a constant drizzle and later a full-blown rainstorm. Alayne's clothes were completely soaked and she was hungry and miserable. She decided to pause her search. Maybe she would have more luck tomorrow. Now nothing could keep her from stopping by the nearest tavern and getting something to eat. Maybe she might even have enough money to afford a room for the night.

 

The Trader's Inn had caught her eye during her futile search for Captain Baelish. Unlike other taverns she has passed, it did not seem to be crowded with whores and one of the kitchen boys had told her earlier they would have warm potato soup. He had not promised too much. Alayne found a seat in a low-lit corner of the tavern and leaned her back against the wall. The soup warmed her insides and reminded her of her childhood. For the first time, the memory did not hurt. Alayne sighed. It had been a long day. She was exhausted. For a little while she closed her eyes and let her mind wander. The noises around her calmed her. The hushed conversations, the singer in the corner, the constant clatter of plates and tankards....  _ I could sit here for the rest of the night _ , she thought to herself. But suddenly a word caught her attention.  _ Winterfell. _ Alayne was alert immediately. She looked around herself. On the table next to her two men were whispering to each other. They were bowed low over their half-eaten plates and seemed lost in conversation. Alayne leaned closer.

“Shhhh,” she heard one of the men, a weathered sailor with a beard, say. “Yes, Winterfell. Rodrick told me, and he recently came from White Harbor. It's all people are talking about in the North.”

“Seven hells”, exclaimed the second man, who was younger and more handsome. “What about the child? Didn't Lord Stark have a daughter who is still alive?”

The old man shook his head. “She died in the fire. Might have been a mercy, if you ask me. After the Red Wedding, she was the only surviving Stark in all of Westeros, with nobody to protect her. Who knows who would have married her for her claim. I hear the Queen Regent was arranging to marry her to the Bastard of Bolton to strengthen their control over the north, can you believe it? Her father's loyal bannerman... Ah, the Boltons were always hungry for power. And absolutely ruthless at that.”

The young man grinned. “Politics. That was never for me, all the schemes and intrigues. I've always been someone who just takes what he wants-”

“-which is why I chose you for the job”, interrupted the old man. “You made the old merchant talk, I'll give you that. Now we know where to find Baelish. And then send him to the seven hells where he belongs. Tonight.”

Alayne's heart beat faster. She could not believe what she had just heard. Finally someone knew where Captain Baelish was. Were they really planning to kill him? Alayne wondered what to do. She couldn't just ask the two men to take her to Captain Baelish, but she could not risk to let them out of her sight either. If they really were planning to kill him, tonight might be her only chance to see Captain Baelish. She decided to wait and see. Maybe she would overhear more details of their plan, and then she could warn him.

 

But the two men's conversation soon circled around other topics. For hours, Alayne listened to them boast about the ships they had plundered, the cities they had pillaged, and the women they had fucked. After a while Alayne had to fight to stay awake. But then, when she was almost slipping to sleep, the two men got up. Finally. Quietly Alayne followed them.

They walked through Gulltown for a while, but Alayne was thankful. The clear night air woke her up and sharpened her senses. She hoped the two men were really walking to wherever Captain Baelish was, but she had no idea what to do once they got there. She hoped she would find a way to talk to him.

Suddenly the men stopped near a street corner and retracted into the shadows. “Get your things ready. He should be here soon”, Alayne heard the old man say. “The merchant said he always passes this street on his way from the brothel.”

_ Brothel? _ Alayne was shocked. The Captain Baelish she had imagined did not visit brothels. He was gallant and true to the woman he loved, like a hero in a song.  _ How stupid of me. _

Then Alayne had an idea. If Captain Baelish really was in the brothel, at least she knew where to find him. All she had to do was wait near the entrance and hope she would somehow recognize him when he left. Unseen she passed the two men she had been following and who were now kneeling on the floor working on something Alayne could not see. Then she hid in the shadows near the brothel and waited.

Men were coming and leaving constantly.  _ How am I supposed to find Captain Baelish here? _ But most men turned right on their way from the brothel. Only a few turned left, past the two men from the tavern.

And then a man appeared. Something about him was different. The way he wrapped his cloak around him, like he was shielding himself not only from the cold, but also from the darkness. The way he observed his surroundings from the corner of his eyes before stepping outside. The way he moved, so deliberately. Alayne held her breath. The man turned left.

He walked a few steps when he suddenly halted, as if he had sensed something. Slowly, carefully, he looked around. His right hand moved toward his sword and hovered there, barely touching the hilt. His eyes were constantly moving, but his head was still. Then Alayne heard a movement from around the corner. She saw the two sailors from the tavern approaching the mysterious cloaked man. They looked harmless enough, but Alayne saw they were holding something that was hidden under their cloaks. The mysterious man saw it too. But before he could unsheathe his sword, Alayne made a decision. She rushed towards him and dragged him into a doorway, out of sight. “Are you Captain Baelish?”, she asked him bluntly.

For half a heartbeat Alayne saw something flash in his eyes. Fear? Surprise? She could not tell. It was gone too quickly. The man seemed to hesitate for the shortest moment.  _ He's asking himself if he should trust me. _ Then he answered: “Yes.”

“Good”, Alayne whispered. She took his hand. “ _Run_.”


	4. Petyr

Of course Petyr had known they were after him. But he wouldn't have expected them here, tonight. That did not mean he had not been prepared. He knew more about Captain Tristan Rosling and his newest lackey than he let on, and he had been planning to use this knowledge to his advantage. He was always prepared like that. It had saved his life many times.

And now he did not even have the chance to talk to Rosling because this woman was dragging him through the streets like a madness had befallen her. Through half of Gulltown they ran, she ahead, holding onto his hand with desperate strength he had not expected her to have, him keeping up with her easily. She still had not slowed down after five minutes. Their chasers – if they were even chasing them in the first place – were nowhere to be seen. And still she ran. It was mad. He had to stop her and talk to her. But how should he address her? He did not know her name even though something about her seemed familiar.  _ “My lady?” _ But he did not know if she was a lady. Her worn out clothes told him otherwise. But she moved with an easy grace that he could not imagine belonging to a commoner, and her hand felt soft and delicate in his. This was not the hand of a worker.  _ “Child” _ , perhaps? She was young, maybe nineteen years old. But he could not bring himself to call her that. She was no child. She was a woman. 

_ This is getting ridiculous _ , he thought to himself.  _ Just say anything.  _ “My lady”, he brought himself to say. “Maybe we should stop and you could tell me what it is you are doing?”

She flinched. “I am  _ not _ a lady”, she blurted. And dragged him further.

That was interesting.  _ So not a lady, then... _ Petyr wondered if he should believe her. But first he wanted to know what was going on. Talking to her had not slowed her down, so he decided on a different strategy. He caught up to her in two easy strides, grabbed her shoulders and pushed her into a doorway.

As he was pressing her against the wall, with a flushed face and scarcely breathing, Petyr realized how beautiful she was. And again he thought how familiar she looked, like he had known her in a different life. But he couldn't remember when.

The mysterious woman let out a hushed scream. It was clear he had caught her off guard. But she did not move. For a few heartbeats she just stood there and stared at him with fear in her eyes. He let her go and took a step back. He did not want to frighten her. Again he wondered how to address her, if she was not a lady and oh, so perfectly, not a child. “Hush”, he whispered. “I won't hurt you, I promise. Now, sweetling, if you were so kind as to tell me what it is you are doing.”

The word had slipped off his tongue before he could stop himself.  _ Sweetling. _ But Petyr liked it. It suited her.

The woman seemed lost for words. “They were after you. I heard them talk about it, in the inn... They said they killed an old merchant to make him talk...”

_So that's what happened to Glaston._

The girl continued. “And they said they wanted to kill you, they said it was what you deserved...”

_ How sweet. “ _ And you took it upon yourself to save me, then? How... chivalrous of you.” He smirked. ”And very, very foolish.”

The woman looked confused. “What...? But you were in danger...”

Petyr smiled. “That's an occupational hazard, I'm afraid. Being in danger. You see, I don't just trade with spices and lace and myrish wine, sweetling. My ship also carries whispers. And some people don't like that I know so much, and they want me harmed. So it is my strategy to learn even more about them so I can use this knowledge against them. Which I can't do now that you have dragged me all over town.”

She looked at him sheepishly. “But... I just wanted to help, I-”

He did not let her finish. “And tell me, sweetling, do you really think I needed your help? Do you really think I would have died tonight if you hadn't come and saved me? Do you really think I didn't have a plan? Of course I had a plan. And it was a good plan. You see, I know certain things about our dear pursuers that they don't want me to know. And I know certain people who would be wiling to pay a good price for the information. So I entrusted a dear friend of mine to sell these whispers to the highest bidder if something should happen to me. It's my own personal insurance. But it's not just that. It's also something a little less valuable, but a lot more useful: Leverage. People tend to go to considerable lengths to make sure their little secrets stay safe with me.

“And so far it has worked every time. Until I made your lovely acquaintance tonight. Because now we have surely been seen. Don't you think it looks suspicious, a young woman and an infamous pirate running through Gulltown like they are escaping from somewhere? Because that is the thing about people, they only see what they want to see. And when they recall what they saw tonight, I am sure they will remember that it was _I_ who was dragging _you_ through the streets. I confess, have a reputation as a scoundrel and racketeer, but I have never harmed someone who was not my enemy, much less a young, beautiful woman like you. I wouldn't want to add that to the list of mischief I am famous for.”

His voice grew cold. “But now people will know that I am in Gulltown. They will tell each other that I am abducting a young lady, and fleeing from the honorable guardsmen of the city watch. Neither of these things are true, we both know that. But whispers like that spread like wildfire. I am a wanted man, sweetling. People will come after me now. And all thanks to you and your... _help_.” He spat the word out like it was poisonous. “Now if you would excuse me, I have a ship to seize.”

Petyr could tell his words had hurt her. It did not matter. _Such a foolish girl..._ He had no time to waste. He needed to leave the city as quickly as possible, and he needed a ship. So he turned away from the woman and made his way toward the harbor.

The woman followed him. “Please, let me come with you.”, she pleaded.

“And why would I want to do that?”, he spat. “You have caused more mayhem in on night than I have in the last year. You have thwarted my entire plans, and I am sure you would find new ways to annoy me every day we are together. No, sweetling. Go back to your sewing needles and your poetry. Find a man to marry you and bear him children.”

“Please”, the woman begged. “I don't have anywhere else to go.”

“The brothel, maybe?”, Petyr suggested. “I'm sure they would love to have you th-”

Furiously she lashed at him, but he caught her hand before she could strike. “Easy now, sweetling. Don't do something you will later regret.”

Before she could answer, they heard a noise. Captain Rosling and his lackey had finally caught up with them. And they looked furious. Rosling was carrying a loaded crossbow and pointing it at their direction. This night could not get any worse.

Petyr sighed. “Come along, then”, he told the girl. She was the most annoying woman he had ever met, but he did not want her at Rosling's mercy. And so they ran again, straight to the harbor and onto the docks where Petyr looked out for a small ship to seize. “Wait here”, he told the woman. He would just leave her here and set sail alone.

Soon he found a small boat that suited his needs. Without a crew he would have to navigate the ship alone, so he was looking for convenience rather than luxury.  _The chasers will still be a mile away_ , he hoped and started untying the rope that held the boat in place.

He had just loosened the first rope when an arrow shot past his ear and hit the boat. Rosling was here. Petyr had only seconds to make a decision while the two men were recharging the crossbow. He looked up and smiled.  _That could work._

With a few quick moves Petyr climbed a nearby crane. He looked around and soon found the rope holding it in its place. As he pulled with all his might, he slowly moved the crane's arm over his pursuers' heads. Attached to the arm was a cage filled with barrels waiting to be shipped. It was a mad idea, but in his experience, those always worked the best. So Petyr took out his dagger and cut the rope holding the cage.

The hatch opened and the entire cargo dropped on the docks and right onto the heads of his pursuers. He only heard a loud  _crack_ as one barrel landed exactly on the skull of Rosling, cracking his head open. Rosling's lifeless body fell to the ground. His lackey looked up towards the crane where Petyr had been sitting a few moments before, but now it was empty. He shook his head and ran away. Petyr smiled.  _Mad plans always work._

Then a woman screamed. It was that girl again. She was standing next to the body of Rosling and stared in horror at the smashed part that had once been his head. Her shock and revulsion were written in her face. And still she screamed.

Petyr moved towards her and pressed his hands on her mouth. “Hush, sweetling”, he murmured into her ear. “It's alright. It's over now.”

But his words had no effect. The woman still screamed. She would wake up the entire Vale if she did not stop soon. And soon enough Petyr saw the guardsmen of the city watch appear in the distance. He had to get out of here.

“Come along, then”, he said to the woman and took her hand. He led her towards the boat he had loosened earlier and help her climb on board. Then he set the sails and they escaped into the night.


	5. Alayne

Oh, gods. Alayne felt sick to her stomach. It had been two hours since Captain Baelish had helped her onto his ship and she still couldn't bring herself to say a word. The sound of barrels falling and the man's head cracking open was ever so present in her memory. When she closed her eyes, she could still see his lifeless body losing all strength and crumbling to the floor. It reminded her of the day she had witnessed the life of her lord father leaving his body and all the horror that had followed. She had spent so much energy on suppressing these memories that she had no power left. Helplessly, all she could do was sob and cry as they flooded back and she relived everything that had happened to her and her family in these past months. For the first time since her lord father's death she could not hide behind her mask of courtesy, not any longer.

So she cried. She cried for her brothers and her sister, she cried for her parents and her home that she had burned and for the carefree days she had spent there. She cried for her direwolf, killed and buried in the Riverlands. And she cried for herself, because her prince had turned out to be a monster and because she had been too stupid and naive to realize it sooner.

Captain Baelish didn't seem to mind. After he had steered the boat out of the harbor and into the open sea, he had disappeared under deck and left her be. Every now and then he would pass her to adjust the sails, but he never said a word. It wouldn't have helped if he tried.

 

It felt like a lifetime had passed when the sun rose on the horizon. Alayne didn't feel anything. All her feelings, everything she had ever been, had been washed away with her tears. She was empty. _I could die today and I wouldn't even notice. Maybe I am already dead and now sailing on a never ending sea for the rest of all days._ The thought didn't frighten her. She had come to Gulltown with a plan, she had wanted to meet Captain Baelish and gain his trust and make him help her, but now she just wanted to sleep. She sighed and wiped the tears from her eyes. She had stopped crying, but at least her life had had purpose while her tears had streamed over her face and soaked her dress. Now her life had nothing left, not even tears.

In that moment Captain Baelish appeared. He was carrying a small plate with fruits and bread. He looked different in daylight. Yesterday, at night, he had seemed like a dangerous pirate, escaping his pursuers, seizing a ship, taking care of her. Had he really pressed his hand over her mouth to muffle her screams down at the docks and whispered in her ear? Alayne did not know. Now, in broad daylight, Captain Baelish did not look like a pirate or a smuggler or an outlaw. He simply looked like a man.

He approached her and put the plate down next to her. “Eat”, he ordered. “You must be hungry.”

Alayne didn't know if she was hungry, but she didn't have enough energy to ask herself the question. So she picked up a grape, ate it, and continued staring into the distance.

Captain Baelish laughed. “Don't eat so much, my lady, or you will get fat”, he teased. “An entire grape? You must have been starving.”

Alayne didn't laugh. She looked at him with empty eyes. “I am _not_ a lady”, she repeated.

Captain Baelish's face was perfectly still. It was impossible to determine if he believed her or not. “Not a lady, then”, he simply said. “And may I ask, who are you?”

The question made her heart beat faster, but she knew what she had to say. “My name is Alayne Stone. I am the natural daughter of Lord Iwan Hersy by a common girl. I grew up with my mother, who was handmaiden to Lady Shayla of House Condon.”

Captain Baelish smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. They were as observant as ever. “Oh, but then you are a lady, aren't you? Lady Stone? Or should I call you Alayne?”

“Alayne”, she whispered. It suddenly felt so intimate, telling him her name. Alayne liked it. She didn't feel empty any more.

“Well then, Alayne”, said Captain Baelish. “Call me Petyr.”

 _Petyr_... that's what Alayne's mother had called him when she spoke of him. The memory made Alayne smile and she lowered her gaze.

Captain Baelish had noticed her smile as well. He softly held her chin and lifted her head so she was looking into his eyes. “You should smile more often, Alayne”, he said. “It suits you.”

Anger coursed through Alayne's veins. What did he know of smiling? He hadn't suffered the losses she had. He wouldn't be telling her to smile if he knew what she had had to endure. Abruptly Alayne stood up and walked to the bow of the ship so he wouldn't see the tears that started pooling in her eyes.

It was all so confusing. He had been so annoyed by her and only reluctantly taken her with him to stop her from screaming. And now he was kind to her. It was like he was wearing a mask. Alayne didn't know who the real Captain Baelish was and who the masked man.

Looking at the water calmed her. It was a beautiful sight. The sun was slowly rising and glistening in the water. The wind blew softly against Alayne's face and played with her hair. Ahead lay nothing but the sea.

After a while Captain Baelish stood behind her. For what seemed like forever neither of them said a word. Then he spoke. “Forgive me, Alayne. I did not mean to be disrespectful.”

Alayne was surprised. She would not have expected him to ask her forgiveness. She had learned long ago that men rarely did that.

“There's nothing to forgive”, she replied. “I have to thank you. It was kind of you to take me on your ship.”

Something inside Captain Baelish seemed to harden. Or was Alayne just imagining it? “Ah, yes. My ship”, he said. “Now that you mention it, that is something I need to speak to you about. You did not think I would take me with you, do you?”

Alayne was confused. He wouldn't take her with him? But wasn't that what he was doing right now?

“You see, last night I had to make a decision”, he continued. “You were obviously in distress and possibly danger and I did not want to leave you there. But now that you are safe I feel my obligations toward you are over. So I have set sail for White Harbor, in the North. Isn't that where your mother is, the handmaiden to Lady Shayla?”

 _The North._ Alayne flinched. “My mother is dead.”

“Your friends, then. Or maybe a young suitor?”, suggested Captain Baelish.

“I don't have friends is the North”, said Alayne. When had that sentence become so true? “I don't belong in the North.”

Captain Baelish took a step back and looked at her. His gaze moved over her body like the hands of a lover. Alayne had never been looked at like this before. Something in her stomach gave a light tingle. “You don't belong in the North, you say? Alayne, in all my life I have never seen a woman who belonged more in the North than you. The way you wear your hair. The way you talk. Your blue eyes and ivory skin... You look like winter herself.”

She felt tears in her eyes. “The North isn't my home any more”, she whispered. “Please don't make me go there.”

But Captain Baelish didn't answer her. Instead he continued to look at her. His gaze seemed to linger on her neckline for a small eternity. It made Alayne feel naked and her heart beat faster. _There are only a few layers of fabric that shield my body from his gaze..._ Where had that thought come from?

Finally Captain Baelish asked: “Tell me, Alayne, why did you come to me last night? It was not just to help me, I know that. Don't deny it. I can tell if you're lying.”

Alayne wondered what to say. Could she really trust this man? But the way he had looked at her... So demanding. So in charge. She did not dare to tell a lie. “I wanted you to help me”, she replied. “I want to learn from you. You have such a good reputation, the infamous Captain Petyr Baelish... I need to know how to smuggle and sneak into places unseen, like you.”

His expression was still enigmatic. “And why, dear Alayne, do you think I would want to help you?”

Alayne wondered if she could fool him. She at least wanted to try. ”Because I have heard all these stories about you. They say you are a gallant and generous man... like a hero in a song.”

Captain Baelish laughed. It was a harsh laugh, without any warmth in it. “Life is not a song, sweetling. You may want to remember that.”

Alayne felt foolish. How could she have expected Captain Baelish to be any different? He was just as selfish and impolite as any other man. Alayne had had enough. “Fine”, she snapped. “Then don't help me because you're gallant.”

She grasped her necklace and pulled it out of her bodice so the pendant was visible for the first time in a long, long time. She showed it to Captain Baelish. “Help me because of this.”

The pendant was a mockingbird.


	6. Petyr

“Where did you get that?”

Petyr had never thought he would see the pendant again. The last time he had seen it, twenty years ago, it had been brand new, made of pure silver, and shining like the sea on a sunny day. Twenty years later time had taken its toll. The mockingbird had become tarnished and black, its intricate features worn down. But it was still beautiful. And it brought back a flood of memories Petyr had kept locked away for twenty years.

And suddenly he realized why the girl had seemed so familiar. _Cat._ She looked just like her. She had the same fire in her, the same smile. She even moved like her. Only her skin was different. It was white as porcelain. Petyr wondered how it would feel under his touch. Would Alayne softly moan while his fingers trailed her jawline, just like Cat had those many years ago?

 

Alayne's words brought him back to reality. “My mother gave it to me.”

Petyr had known it all along. From the first moment he had laid eyes on the girl, he had known she was familiar. _Cat's daughter._ So that meant Cat had survived that fateful day. A feeling of relief washed over him and he suddenly realized he had been carrying a burden for twenty years.

For the first time he was lost for words. All he could think of was Cat. _She survived, she survived, she survived... And she had a daughter, just as fierce and vigorous... And beautiful..._

 

This changed everything. Petyr wanted to help this girl, teach her everything he knew, make her stronger and more resilient than she ever could be without his guidance. But he had to stop himself. It would be foolish to trust his emotions. He had to think. _What does she want?_ , he asked himself. _To learn how to smuggle and sneak into places unseen? Why?_ It sounded so oddly specific. Like she already knew where she wanted to sneak into and what she wanted to smuggle. Petyr wondered if he should pressure her further but decided against it. He didn't want to know like this. _She'll tell me soon enough... I'll make her want to tell me._

Suddenly he realized that Alayne had been watching him without saying a word the entire time. Had he masked his emotions well enough? He couldn't even tell. Just thinking of Cat had turned him into a young fool again. How stupid and naive he'd been back then. He could not make the same mistake he had made twenty years ago. _How much does Alayne know?_ The question had to be answered. But again he decided not to ask. He couldn't let her see how much the pendant meant to him. Or was it already too late for that?

He took a deep breath and calculated his next moves. Life was like a game of _cyvasse_. Observe the opponents' board, learn their moves, lure them in false security. Then strike, keep them on their toes, wear them out with seemingly pointless moves... Until they made a fatal mistake.

“Your mother's name was Cat, wasn't it?”, he stated. It was not a question. “Yes, I met her. Once. Twenty years ago. I barely remember her. She must have spoken very fondly of me though, if her daughter made the decision to come to me for help. But, sweetling, she must have misguided you. I don't owe her anything. I still don't see why I should help you. I'm taking you to White Harbor.”

How much it hurt him to lie like that. _It has never hurt before..._ Petyr owed every success he had ever had to his talent to read people, mislead them, and use them. And he was good at it. He did it with exact precision and completely void of emotion. But now the lie hurt. Still, it was his safest bet to disguise his true intentions. _Let her think you don't want her._ He prayed Alayne would protest and start a fight, _demand_ to stay with him... And she did.

“My mother saved your life”, she shouted. “You were dying in the streets and she helped you. She brought you to safety and treated your wounds. And you made her a promise. You promised to return the favor and come to save her life. You swore it.” She pointed at the pendant. “And you gave her this mockingbird as a symbol of your debt. You swore to help her or be cursed forever.”

She was crying now, but that didn't stop her from screaming. “My mother died and you weren't there. You are still in her debt. I have come to collect it.”

Petyr could have laughed out loud, so happy was he. _Perfect._ Now he knew what Cat had told her daughter. Cat, his mysterious Cat, this beautiful stranger. He had never learned her last name. She had told him she was a sailor's daughter, in town for a few days before her father took her on his ship back to Oldtown. She was the only person that had ever saved his life, when he was still a young lad who hadn't known about all the schemes and whispers and learned how to save himself. She had spent a night by his side, caring for him and treating his wounds. And then the riots had separated them and he had never heard from her again. He had always wondered if she had survived. Now he knew. And she had had a daughter by Lord Iwan Hersy... They said all bastards were born of love. He hoped it was true in this case. Cat would have deserved to be happy.

 

It made him happier than he ever thought he could be. The guilt that had been building inside him for twenty years washed away and was replaced by a deep gratitude and new found hope.

But Petyr's face was still. He hid his feelings behind a mask. Carefully he planned his next move.

“ _Come to collect a debt_... That are a lot of big words for such a small person as you. Alright, Alayne. I shall teach you what I know on the way to Pentos. But once we are there, I am free of debt.”

He tried to read her face as he spoke. Was she relieved? Angry? Her lower lip trembled, as if she was trying to hold back tears. But whether tears of sadness of happiness, he couldn't tell. She looked just as mysterious as ever.

 


	7. Petyr

And so they had set sail for Pentos. Two days later they landed on the island of Driftmark in Blackwater Bay to stock up on provisions. There was the first time Petyr saw something new in Alayne. She had left him for a while to wander through the harbor, talk to the merchants and buy some new clothes. After he had purchased some equipment and the food they would need, he went back on deck and waited for her. It was a warm and sunny day and he soon dozed off.

He was woken up from a splash of water in his face. _Seven hells..._ When he opened his eyes, he saw Alayne standing over him, shaking with laughter. She was holding an empty bucket.

“I just wanted to prepare you, in case it rained later”, she teased. Petyr laughed and wiped the water from his face. It was good she could jape again.

The next morning Alayne was wearing one of the new dresses she had purchased. It was a simple gown, but it still looked elegant on her. The skirt was shorter so it would not hinder her while working on the boat, and it softly swayed with every step she took. In his mind Petyr called it her _dangerous dress_... From time to time he caught himself stealing a glance at the way the dress accentuated the shape of her hips and slightly pushed up her breasts. He could almost imagine what was underneath... It was an exciting idea. Sometimes it seemed like Alayne knew what he was thinking because she seemed to smile more wickedly whenever she wore this tempting dress, but she never said anything.

 

Petyr tried not to dwell on these thoughts. Instead he focused on her training. In the days that followed he taught Alayne how to navigate a ship, how to catch fish, how to read the stars for guidance. She was an eager and willing student and did well under his counsel. But he didn't teach her about his schemes, no matter how much she asked. These were just his... He wouldn't share them with anyone.

He enjoyed helping her grow. At night they usually sat on deck and looked at the sea. It was comfortable being silent with her and Petyr often let his mind wander. Did she know how much his thoughts circled back to the way her dangerous dress clung to her body?

 

On their last night they shared a delicious meal. It was so intriguing that she had such a homely side, but Petyr knew she wouldn't want him to know that. So he enjoyed the dinner in silence and wondered what would become of her once they had reached Pentos. Did it matter? _No,_ he tried telling himself. _She is Cat's daughter, she came to collect a debt... The debt is paid now. That's all there is to it._ But he couldn't convince himself of that. She had become more than just Cat's daughter in the past fortnight. She had become Alayne.

Alayne must have felt his eyes on her, because she looked up from her plate and smiled. “What are you thinking about, Captain Baelish?”

 _Captain Baelish_. How much he hated that she called him that. He had asked her to call him Petyr three times now, but she still addressed him like that. He wondered whether it was to annoy him. And then he wondered why he cared so much. What would it matter after tomorrow?

So he smiled back at her. “I'm thinking what a beautiful night it is, sweetling.”

She dreamily let her gaze wander. “It is”, she agreed. “You can already see the lighthouse of Pentos in the distance.”

The lighthouse had always been a welcome sight for Petyr. Now he despised it. These were his last hours with her. He didn't want to be reminded of that.

For a while they said nothing. Alayne just looked at the stars, and her mouth silently formed the names of the constellations she spotted. She was so ambitious, constantly asking questions, constantly revising what she had already learned. He could watch her for hours.

Then she seemed confused for a moment.

“Captain Baelish?”, she asked.

 _Petyr, call me Petyr..._ “Yes, Alayne?”

“What star is this? It just appeared. I have never seen it before tonight.” She pointed upwards.

He looked up. “So the rumors are true...”

It was a red comet with a tail that covered half the sky. Petyr had heard about the rumors but never given it much thought. Until tonight. It was the most wondrous sight.

“What do you mean?”, asked Alayne.

When Petyr looked at her, the red light reverberated in her eyes. She was so beautiful. Instinctively he got up, walked around the table and sat next to her. She didn't seem to mind.

“There were dragons once”, he started. “A long time ago. But the last dragon died over a hundred years ago. Did you know that?”

She nodded. “During the reign of King Aegon III.”

How did she know that? In Petyr's experience lowborn girls did not have extended knowledge in Westerosi history. But she looked at him so eagerly, so obviously thirsty for more, that he didn't care. So he continued.

“There have been rumors that a young princess has emerged Across the Narrow Sea. She rides on a stallion of the purest silver, and she is mother to three baby dragons. I never believed it... Until tonight. The red comet is a sign that dragons are in this world again.”

“How exciting!”, exclaimed Alayne. She grasped his hand. “Imagine a world with dragons in it! It must be the most amazing sight.“

She fell silent, still holding his hand. The daily work had made her hands rougher than they had been when she had dragged him through Gulltown a fortnight ago, but Petyr didn't mind. Without much thought he began trailing his fingers over her hand, back and forth, down every one of her long fingers and up to her wrist, then back again.

They sat like this for what seemed like hours, silently, absentmindedly, lost in the moment. Then Alayne murmured, more to herself than to him: “I want to see a dragon...”

“You will, sweetling”, he promised.

She looked at him and suddenly pulled her hand away as if she had been burned. For a heartbeat she looked like a frightened girl again. But she held his gaze.

They looked at each other for what seemed like a lifetime. Their world was colored red. The comet's light reflected in Alayne's eyes and shimmered in her black hair. It even painted the most wonderful patterns on her skin.

Petyr had never seen anything half as beautiful.

His eyes moved hungrily over her face as he tried to burn every little detail into his memory. He could tell that she knew what he was doing, but she didn't say anything. Instead, she opened her lips and let out the softest moan. It was enough to make Petyr feel a tightness in his breeches. Gods, how he wanted her. His eyes moved over her features with such urgency now that he was sure it would make her uncomfortable, but she was perfectly still. After he had memorized every inch of her face, he lowered his gaze. His eyes roamed over her long, beautiful neck, towards her chest. Petyr let his gaze wander over her perfect breasts. Alayne was breathing heavily now and her breasts moved up and down with every breath she drew. It had been a warm day and she was wearing nothing but a tunic of light cotton, but the night was colder. Petyr caught a glimpse of her hard nipples pressing against the fabric. _Oh, Gods..._ Was it just from the cold, or also from lust? He swallowed hard. The tightness in his breeches became almost unbearable.

Suddenly the wind changed softly and blew through Alayne's hair. A strand loosened and flew across her face. But Alayne didn't move. She still looked at him as if she knew exactly what he was thinking, at least judging from her wicked smile. Few women had ever looked at Petyr so intensely, and none of them with such innocence... Petyr raised his right hand, stroked the strand carefully across her forehead, and gently tucked it behind her ear. Her skin felt so hot under his touch... He could not bring himself to lower his hand. Instead he trailed his fingers along her ear, over her neck and up again until his hand was nestled in her long, soft hair. He felt the wind lightly rustling the black strands. It was enough to drive him half-mad with desire.

 

A memory popped into his head. _Cat._ Petyr remembered the kiss they had shared together. It had been nothing like tonight. He had been a frightened young boy who had never touched a woman, his senses fogged by the milk of the poppy she had given him. Their lips had clumsily found each other in the darkness and the kiss had lasted for no longer than a heartbeat.

_The debt is paid now..._

Petyr had always thought his kiss with Cat had been the most romantic moment of his life, but it was nothing compared to tonight. He was a man now, not a frightened boy. Over the years he had learned how to touch a woman, how to make her squirm under his hands and shiver with lust. But none of it had truly mattered before Alayne.

 

His eyes, dark with desire, found hers. He pleaded wordlessly. This time it was Alayne who lowered her gaze. Her eyes moved slightly down and fixated on his lips as if she could not wait to feel them on her. _She wants me, too..._ The thought was all Petyr needed to lose his senses. He had to have her.

Slowly Petyr moved towards her. When she didn't back away, he buried his right hand deeper in her hair and gently gave her head a light pull. Alayne let out a soft, almost inaudible gasp, closed her eyes and leaned in.

She was so close now he could feel her breath on his lips. But it was not close enough. Petyr moved as far as he dared without touching her lips and lingered there. He felt Alayne tremble under his hands. A part of him never wanted this moment to end, but another part urged him to finally kiss her, taste her lips. A fiery struggle raged within him until his desire and lust took over. He couldn't wait any longer. He had to feel the touch of her soft, chaste kiss. He had just parted his lips to kiss her when she spoke. It was barely a whisper. “Captain Baelish...”

“Call me Petyr”, he murmured and finally gave in to the temptation. Softly he put his lips on hers. It was a tender kiss at first, but it was still enough to make waves of wanting course through his veins. She tasted like the sea herself.

Alayne parted her lips and let out a soft moan. He almost lost control then and there. Gods, he had never thought he could want a woman so much, so desperately, so all-consuming. But he didn't want to overwhelm her. _Ease her into it, be gentle..._ Carefully his tongue flicked forward and touched her upper lip for half a heartbeat. She moaned again. _You liked that, didn't you..._ So he flicked his tongue again, more urgent this time. He was surprised when he felt her tongue move as well, hungrily and willingly. His self-restraint shattered. Petyr raised his left had and cupped her face firmly to steady her for what would come next. Then he opened his mouth and kissed her with a passion he did not know he had. Desperately his lips clung to hers and she responded with a fury that amazed him.

The world seemed to have stopped. All that mattered was Alayne.

After a small eternity she pulled back and caught her breath. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was messy, and she smiled.

“Oh, Petyr...” she whispered.

_Petyr._

The comet's light still shone. Their world was red.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick confession: Yes I know the comet appeared a lot earlier in the books, but let's just say it appeared again and Petyr and Alayne both missed is the first time because they were busy doing other stuff. :)


	8. Petyr

The next morning the red comet was gone, and so was everything that had happened the night before. When Petyr woke up Alayne  was already working on deck. She turned her head slightly when she heard his steps, but did not look at him directly. Instead she wordlessly handed him a rope. A small twitch of disappointment soared though his chest, but Petyr grit his teeth and took the rope. Then he helped her adjust the sails in silence. 

He didn't know what to say. Had he really kissed he r last night, under the light of a red comet? Or had it all just been a dream? He was not sure. All he knew was that they would be in Pentos soon and part. It was for the better. He would visit Illyrio Mopatis, cheese and spice monger and dealer of whispers. Maybe he could help him find a crew and a ship. And Alayne could go her way... He didn't know where. It was none of his concern.

 

They reached the harbor fairly early. Petyr still hadn't mentioned the kiss... But what should he have said? He wasn't even sure how to feel about it himself. He had not planned on kissing Alayne. Yes, he had enjoyed stealing a glance at her body every now and then and imagining what was underneath her clothes before he fell asleep, but he had never intended to let his feeling for her get the better of him. It was dangerous to care for someone, and Alayne was especially unpredictable. After two weeks with him, she was still a mystery. Petyr still didn't know why she had asked him for his help. Whenever he had tried to steer their conversation towards that question, she had found a way to change the topic. Maybe he had taught her his schemes after all without even noticing... Petyr shook his head and straightened up. _All the more reason to part from her._

 

Silently they got off the ship. Petyr didn't dare offer her a hand as she balanced over the slim plank. Her kiss still burned on his lips and touching her again, even in such a chaste way, would bring back the memories of last night all too well.

Now this was it. Petyr would never see her again.

He looked at her one last time and tried to forget the way the comet's light had lit up her face like  fire. Why had he looked at her so intently? That memory would be etched in his mind for all eternity.  _ Focus, Petyr. _ “Farewell, Alayne Stone.”

“Farewell, Captain Baelish”, she answered. Her face was as mysterious as ever.

Last night she had called him Petyr... It seemed like a lifetime ago. But now she looked just as innocent as she had when they first met. Petyr studied her face intently. She did not seem to want to mention the kiss either. He didn't know whether that was a relief or an insult.

With one last, weak smile Alayne turned around and slowly walked away. Petyr watched her becoming smaller and smaller in the distance, a tall and graceful figure among the common people at the port, until she finally disappeared behind a group of sailors. And just like that, she was gone.

He knew he should be glad about it. On the way to Pentos he had planned his next steps carefully, but it hadn't come as easily to him as it usually did. The thought of Alayne in the dangerous dress had been so distracting... It had become harder and harder to focus when she was near because he had enjoyed watching her work on the boat. Gods, how many hours had he wasted staring at her like a drunk fool? He had to leave her behind and move on. It was the best choice for him.

 

So he made his way to the mansion of Illyrio Mopatis. Petyr had known him for half his life. After they had traded with spices for many years, the fat Magister had invited him to stay for a week at his mansion to learn the Pentosi customs. It had been a wonderful time that Petyr had spent drinking wine and enjoying the city. On his first night in Pentos Illyrio had hosted a lavish party and invited an old friend of his to join them. Petyr and the man called Varys had got along from the beginning and in the following days the  _ Spider _ had taught him the art of eavesdropping and picking up whispers. It was then that Petyr had decided to live his life as a pirate.

 

When Petyr reached Illyrio's house he was greeted at once by one of his serving girls and led to the Magister.

Illyrio was as fat as ever. Today he wore a bright purple robe that matched his oiled forked yellow beard but made him look like a giant prune. The table in front of him was overloaded with food and wine. _Just as always..._ Illyrio welcomed Petyr with open arms.

“Petyr!”, he announced. “What a lovely surprise!”

“Thank you”, replied Petyr. “Forgive me for not sending a raven announcing my arrival... I was rather preoccupied. As you may have heard, my ship sank not too long ago.”

Illyrio chuckled. “Oh yes, I have heard of that. From nine different sources. The infamous Captain Petyr Baelish setting sail in a storm and sinking his ship in the middle of the Narrow Sea? It's the best gossip I've heard in years.”

Petyr forced himself to smile. That wouldn't help him win back his reputation as fast as he had hoped. He never would have expected his story to spread this fast.

“But, no, I have to correct myself”, interrupted Illyrio his thoughts. “I have heard of even better gossip just yesterday. Tell me, Petyr, what do you know about the Starks of Winterfell?”

“Not too much”, Petyr admitted. “Probably more than I should, but that is always the case with me”, he added with a sly grin.

“Let me enlighten you then”, said Illyrio. “You know that Lord Eddard was appointed Hand of the King not too long ago and was executed for treason in King's Landing. His daughter Arya fled the city not much later. Then his son and lady wife were butchered at the Red Wedding. His youngest sons were killed when Theon Turncloak took Winterfell.”

“I know that”, replied Petyr. “Illyrio, dear friend, you did not think I was this blind...”

“Let me finish”, interrupted the Magister. “Lord Stark had another daughter, Lady Sansa. She was betrothed to King Joffrey before he cast her aside for Lady Margaery after the Battle of the Blackwater. Now, what use did the crown have for the daughter of a traitor? Not much.”

Illyrio took a big gulp of wine and continued.

“But then the Boltons took Winterfell and were named Wardens of the North. You see, the Northerners are a very proud people. Many of them are still loyal to House Stark. So Queen Regent Lady Cersei schemed to wed Sansa Stark to Roose Bolton's legitimized bastard Ramsay in order to cement their claim to Winterfell. They sent the girl north with her family's bones as a gesture of sympathy. The girl was supposed to be met by the Boltons half way up the King's Road. But a heavy snowstorm cut them off for a couple of days so they couldn't reach her in time. Lady Sansa arrived in Winterfell alone.”

Illyrio emptied his wineglass and refilled it before looking at Petyr. He had always been a very dramatic storyteller, and it was clear that this was his big finish.

“The same night”, he announced, “the castle burned to the ground. That's quite the coincidence, don't you think?”

Petyr thought about the story for a while. It had captured him more than gossip usually did. Then he asked: “What happened to the girl? Lady Sansa?”

“Ah, that's where the story gets interesting”, promised Illyrio. “She is believed to have died in the fire. But one of Lord Varys's little birds claims he has seen her in the Vale not too long ago. She might have escaped after all.”

“Lucky girl”, murmured Petyr. “From what I heard, the Bastard of Bolton is not a very gallant husband.”

_ Gallant. _ The word reminded him of Alayne. He could almost hear her voice when he remembered what she had said to him.  _ “They said you were a gallant man, like a hero in a song...”  _ Had he been gallant to her? He pushed the thought aside. What did it matter?

Petyr continued. “Didn't Ramsay lock his first wife in a tower so she would starve to death?”

“I'm afraid so”, answered Illyrio. “Now back to the Stark girl. Varys's bird said she dyed her hair black and is wearing a grey woolen cloak... But she can still be identified by her features, of course. She has blue eyes and ivory skin.”

“ _Like winter herself..._ ” Had Petyr really just said that out loud?

Illyrio shrugged his shoulders. “Yes, one might say so.”

Petyr's mind raced. That description seemed oddly familiar. But it couldn't be. Alayne was Cat's daughter. She had shown him the necklace, the same necklace he had given Cat all those years ago. Cat, the lowborn sailor's daughter, on her way to Oldtown...  _ You never learned her last name. _

“Tell me, Illyrio...”, requested Petyr, “what was her lady mother's name?”

“Lady Sansa's mother? She was Lady Catelyn Stark, of course.”

_Catelyn. Cat. His mysterious Cat._

Finally, after twenty years, Petyr had learned her last name.


	9. Alayne

Pentos was a beautiful city, but it was all a blur to Alayne.

Her mind hadn't settled down since Petyr had kissed her the night before. She still didn't know what to make of it as memories flooded into her head...

 

***

 

When she had first heard of Petyr Baelish, the infamous pirate, she had been a little girl. She had always enjoyed playing princess with her mothers jewelry and one day she had found the mockingbird and asked her mother about it. And thus her mother had told her of a dangerous man who was free like a bird and obeyed no laws. She had decided she wanted to marry a pirate like him then and there...

But she had been a little girl, and soon she had began dreaming of other things. She had wanted to leave Winterfell to marry a prince... And a few years later her dream had come true. On the day she was packing for her new life in King's Landing her mother stepped into her chambers with the necklace...

 

***

 

Tears were glistening in Catelyn's eyes. “I am so proud of you, my sweet child.”

Then she showed her the pendant. “Do you remember this?”

“The mockingbird of Captain Baelish”, she recalled.

Her mother nodded. “Petyr gave this to me the day I saved his life and swore he would do the same for me one day. But I have never needed him. I have your father to protect me, and I am very, very happy with him. I hope you will be just as happy with Prince Joffrey. But I want you to have this necklace, to remind you that you, too, deserve to be free like a bird. Don't let the Baratheons lock you in a cage.”

She didn't know what to say, so she just took the pendant and forgot about it soon... Until she found it again in her trunk on the way to Winterfell, prompting a mad plan to take shape in her imagination.

Two days later, Winterfell had burned to the ground and she had disappeared.

On her journey to Gulltown Alayne had wondered what to expect of Petyr. But he was so different from everything she had imagined him to be. There were moments when he was kind and sweet and gentle. He made her laugh and eased the constant pain she felt since her father had died. But these moments were so rare. Mostly he was distant . The smile on his lips rarely reached his eyes.

 

Still, Alayne was thankful. He had been a good teacher, very factual, demanding but also patient, and she had learned so much. Why hadn't she thanked him for that? She had wanted to tell him how much he had influenced her and made her grow, but she had never found the right moment or the right words. She had promised herself to thank him on their last night together, but then the red comet had appeared...

She had felt something was different after he sat next to her. Alayne still trembled when she remembered how he had trailed his fingers over her hand and caressed her skin, making her burn and shiver with desire. No one had ever touched her like this before... The sensation had been so fantastic, radiating through her entire body and making her yearn with passion. How much she had hoped he would never stop...

 

But soon she had found her senses again. Being touched like this by a stranger was not appropriate for a young woman like herself. Because that's what he still was, a stranger. He had never revealed enough to be called anything else.

And then he had kissed her... Alayne had never thought he would have wanted her like that. She had noticed how his eyes moved up and down her body when he thought she wasn't looking. It hadn't bothered her. How strange that just wearing a simple dress could have this effect on a man... And how beautiful it made her feel whenever he laid eyes on her... It was so empowering. So she started toying with Petyr and teasing him with a look, a smile, a swirl of her hips whenever she was wearing the dress she bought on Driftmark.

But she had never expected him to be so hungry for her. He was so... old. Moments before their lips had touched for the first time she had felt the urge to get up and run, so scared and confused was she. It had all been so much, the sweet wine, the red comet, the promise of dragons, and now this... _But what a kiss..._ Alayne blushed. She had only been kissed by Prince Joffrey before. His lips had always been too clumsy, too wet, too careless. Kissing Petyr had been different. He had known exactly how to put his lips on hers, how to flick his tongue to send shivers of desire through her body. Alayne's heart beat faster just thinking about it. He must have kissed dozens of women before her. A wave of shame washed over her. The thought had not mattered to her last night but now it made her feel dirty. Hadn't he visited the brothel on the night they met? _Gods. Who knows who he kissed there._ And only a fortnight later his lips had touched hers...

Her desire had faded away. She felt disgusting.

 

Angrily Alayne pushed the thought aside. She had other things to worry about. What would she do next? Now that Petyr had taught her so much, she felt ready to go back to the North and carry out her plan to claim what was hers. But how would she get there? Now she was in Pentos, half a world away. She had no business here.

Alayne was furious at herself. She had enjoyed the time with Petyr so much that she hadn't even cared where he was taking her. Sailing with him had been so wild and wonderful that she had almost forgotten all about her plan. How could Petyr have made her forget so easily? How could being with him have been so much more important than everything else? How could she have been that foolish?

 

She had to leave the city. She would walk straight back to the harbor and try to buy passage on a ship back to Westeros. It would take months to get back to the North. _You foolish girl._

Alayne took a deep breath and calmed herself. All things considered she did not regret her decision to go with Petyr. She had learned so much that could help her carry out her plan.

 

The docks were full of merchants and sailors. Who of them could take her back to Westeros? Alayne walked through the crowd for a while, hoping she would find a captain. One man seemed more than happy to take her to White Harbor free of charge, but something about him made her draw back. The way he and his men were leering, undressing her with their eyes... That was nothing compared to the way Petyr had stolen glances. He might have visited a brothel on the night they met, but he had still treated her with respect. She had never realized how precious that was. At that moment it became clear to her that she missed him... But he was gone now and she had to forget about him. The thought hurt her more than she had expected. Maybe she should stay in the city for a few days after all before sailing back to Westeros. The North would still be there. And it was not as if she still had a family who were worrying about her. She was on her own.

Alayne sighed and turned around... and looked into Petyr Baelish's eyes.

“Captain Baelish!” Alayne could not hold back her happiness and laughed. “What are you doing here?”

Her world was spinning as a wave of emotions washed over her. _He came back... He came back for me._

Petyr smiled. _“_ I've come to ask you to return to Westeros with me.”

He looked at her and held her gaze, and Alayne drowned in his eyes. It was enough to bring back the memory of last night and make Alayne's heart beat faster. Her pirate had returned...

“Why?”, she croaked.

Petyr raised a hand and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, just like he had the night before. _Gods, yes..._ Nothing had ever felt so right.

“My old friend Illyrio Mopatis was kind enough to provide me with a ship and a crew. All I need now is a token of good luck. And who could be better luck than you, sweetling?”

 


	10. Petyr

He had been such a fool. Petyr had always seen Alayne as a woman, wild and strong and so perfectly mysterious that he didn't even want to try to decipher her.

How could he have let her fool him like that? Now he knew she was neither of those things. Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell was a stupid child, apparently desperate to carry out a mad plan to escape her fate. Didn't she know highborn girls never escaped their fate? That they were merely pieces in a cruel game, the Game of Thrones, moved across the board and sacrificed at the will of the players?

Of course not. She had thought he was gentle and gallant. It had been so easy to manipulate her to come back with him to Westeros... Just smiling at her, whispering sweet and empty words, had made her melt in his hands. Had she learned nothing in King's Landing? Smiles were not to be trusted, least of all his.

 

Gods, he was furious with her. She had lied to him since the first day they met.  _ Alayne Stone....  _ And he had believed her. Why? How could he have let her fool him so easily? There had been so many warnings. She had always moved too gracefully. Her hand had been too delicate when he first held it, back in Gulltown... And she had known too much about Aegon III and the last dragon...  _ I should have noticed her story did not add up _ , he thought grimly. But no, he had been too busy staring at her dreamily and thinking about what was underneath her clothes, imagining running his hands over her body and making her tremble, lusting after her in bed at night, that he had completely forgotten to use his mind. His sharpest weapon... That had never happened to him before.

It was her fault. She had come into his life and tempted him with her sweet laughter and her dangerous dress. She had played him like a fool. And he wanted to get back at her. The feeling of betrayal stung deeply.

_ Now you know what it feels like, being tricked like that _ , a voice inside his head chirped.  _ How many young women have you seduced and discarded over the years to get what you wanted?  _

Petyr pushed the thoughts away. Now was not the time for self-doubt.

 

His fury was still raging inside him when his first mate Quenton informed him they had left the harbor.

“Where to, Captain?”, he asked him.

Petyr had made up his mind. “King's Landing... I have a present for Queen Cersei.”

 

Alayne, no,  _ Sansa, _ was standing in the bow of the ship. Her long, luscious black curls were softly swaying in the wind.  _ They're auburn underneath.  _ The thought still send a wave of arousal through his veins. That he still found her so desirable made him furious.

Angrily he turned away. He wouldn't talk to her now. She would find out where he was taking her soon enough.

 

In the following days he tried to keep away from Sansa as much as possible. It was easy. The ship was big enough for a crew of eight men, and he had many responsibilities as a captain. He preferred to take his meals in his cabin while working over his charts mapping out a route or reading the books Illyrio had given him.

Sansa sometimes looked as if she wanted to talk to him, but she never did. She soon befriended Talla, a young woman who had come on the ship with her father, Petyr's navigator. He was glad. This way she would not distract him. Talla taught Sansa how to play  _ cyvasse _ , a complicated board game from Volantis, and the two women spent hours playing the game or chattering or bathing in the sun on deck.

A week after they had left Pentos, Sansa finally approached him in his cabin. He looked at her intently for the first time since asking her to come with him again.  _ Her hair looks less dark _ , he observed.  _ The dye is washing out... It suits her. _

Sansa smiled at him hesitantly and her face reflected her struggle to come up with the right words. Petyr waited patiently.

“It's been a wonderful journey so far, Captain Baelish”, she finally remarked. “Thank you for taking me with you.”

Then she added shyly: “Do you want to play a game of  _ cyvasse _ ?”

The idea was intriguing. Petyr loved playing  _ cyvasse _ , and he was good at it.

“Nothing would please me more, sweetling”, he answered with a smile and followed her on deck.

 

They set up the board in silence. Petyr carefully envisioned the different strategies she might try. He wanted to be prepared. It took him a while to decide how to arrange his tiles. He wanted to surprise and challenge her.

Sansa was already waiting when he had finally decided on a strategy. She had simply thrown the tiles on her board and then arranged them the way they had landed accidentally. How could she have left so much up to chance?

She impatiently lifted the screen when he was done and revealed her board. Petyr studied it.  _ Interesting. _ Her seemingly random arrangement had made up a very intriguing field. It would be thrilling to play her. He made his first move and the game began.

 

Sansa was a worthy opponent. Three times now she had almost caught his King with one of her spearmen, but he had always escaped. He had had to sacrifice a horse in order to lure her away from killing one of his dragons, but it had been worth it. The game was still undecided after more than an hour. He couldn't help but admire her fearless style and her seemingly impulsive moves. Whenever it was his turn, he always hesitated and analyzed the game, visualizing the different outcomes. Sansa always reacted fast without seeming to think about her moves too long. But she almost always made the right choices.

“Why aren't you using your dragon?”, she asked him after a while after her dragon had removed one of his elephants.

“Dragons are not that powerful, sweetling”, he replied. “They can kill, yes, but they can also easily be outmaneuvered. All I have to do is bring up my catapult...” He made the move. “Now you are trapped. And I can kill your dragon in my next move.”

Sansa looked up and smiled wickedly. “Not if I fly away”, she announced and took the pawn. She made her dragon soar high into the air and landed it next to one of his horses. “Are you scared now?”, she teased. Her eyes were twinkling with delight.

“No”, he responded. “I'll get you in my next move, believe me.”

She laughed. “The dragon is my favorite piece. It can fly wherever I need it. It's free like a bird.”

“Ah, maybe that's not such a good thing”, he cautioned. “You should not trust a bird. Because a bird that is free will never stay with you forever. Sooner or later it will fly away. Birds are dangerous.”

“But aren't you a bird?”, Sansa asked. “Captain Baelish the mockingbird?”

_ Maybe I am dangerous, too _ , he thought. He enjoyed playing  _ cyvasse _ with her more than he had thought, but he was still furious. She had betrayed him and lied to him. He would bring her to King's Landing. Queen Cersei would pay him a good price.

He didn't answer Sansa's question and avoided her gaze. Instead he intently studied the game and found a way to kill her dragon in the next move.  _ Got you. _

“See?”, he bragged. “I told you.”

She only laughed. “You haven't won the game yet, Captain Baelish.”

Gods, when had she become so bold?

A few moves later he finally cornered her king. She desperately tried to save him and sacrificed all her spearmen, two elephants and a horse in the process, but to no avail. With a smug smile Petyr moved his dragon forward. “See, sweetling?  _ Now _ I'll use my dragon. Say goodbye to your king.”

The game was over. He had won.

Sansa flinched suddenly. She was no longer the bold, carefree player. “Say goodbye to your king...” she whispered and her face filled with sadness.

Was she thinking of her brother, the King in the North? Petyr clenched his jaw. His rage rose in him again. He did not feel sorry for her. She had lied to him. She didn't deserve his pity.

“You were a worthy opponent, but you cannot beat me... Lady Stark”, he declared. 

Sansa yanked her head up and looked at him. Her eyes reflected an ocean of expressions. Fear, surprise, anger, sadness, fury... it was all written in her face.

“How do you know my name?”, she whispered.

“Oh, I learned it a while ago”, answered Petyr. “Do you really think I didn't know?”

Tears were glistening in her eyes now. “Why didn't you say something sooner?”

“I wanted to see how long you would try and fool me, my lady. I have known who you are from the start”, he lied. “And being in the company of the last surviving Stark of Westeros... That's good leverage. You were quite useful.”

Sansa looked so confused now. “I thought you cared for me. I thought that for the first time since I left for King's Landing with my family, someone truly cared for me. Not for my title or my name or my claim. Just for me.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “No, sweetling. I didn't care for you. I still don't.”

Lying to her still hurt. But he didn't care. She had fooled him for so long, tempted him, distracted him, now he wanted to hurt her too.

“You can marry the Bastard of Bolton for all I care. I'm taking you back to King's Landing. I'm sure our lovely Queen Regent Lady Cersei will be more than happy to find out you are alive and well. It should be quite the... reunion.”

Sansa looked at him as if he had slapped her. “No”, she protested. “I won't go back. You can't make me.”

“Oh, but I am making you. This ship is sailing straight to King's Landing. You will be back at court within days.”

Sansa jumped up. “I'll run as soon as we reach the harbor”, she promised.

Petyr sighed. “Don't make this so hard. I won't let you run.”

In three easy strides he walked towards her and grabbed her by the wrists. “I did warn you not to trust a bird, Lady Sansa.”

For a while she didn't even seem to notice he was holding her. Silent tears ran over her face as she began to realize he had been fooling her all along. Then she tried to wrench free of his grip, but he did not let her wrists go. She became more and more panicked.

“No”, she begged. “Please, let me go...”

“No”, replied Petyr with cruel disdain. “I fear I shall have to lock you in your cabin so you won't run, Lady Stark.”

He dragged her towards the stairs that led under deck.

“No!”, she screamed. “I won't go back to King's Landing, I won't... Please Petyr, you can't make me... Please...”

The members of his crew were looking now, but he didn't care. He knew they wouldn't dare question his actions. Sansa kicked and screamed and cried. Her voice was shrill with panic.

“Please Petyr, don't do this to me... Please... No... Petyr... Please don't do this to me... Don't take me back to King's Landing... Please...”

She kicked him hard. When the pain shot though his body, Petyr loosened his grip for a second and she wrenched free.

“I won't go back to King's Landing! I won't! I'll run away!”, she screamed.

“Sweetling, we are on a ship. There is nowhere to run”, he said, still gasping from the pain.

She seemed lost for words for a second. Then her eyes turned dark with desperate determination. “Then I'll drown myself.”

And with that, Sansa Stark jumped over board. The black waves of the Narrow Sea washed over her, and she was gone.


	11. Sansa

She was floating in a never ending ocean.

 _Rise_ , a voice whispered to her from far away. _Soar high above the clouds..._

But Sansa did not want to soar above the clouds, she just wanted to drown and become one with the Sea and disappear forever. She wanted to go down, down, down...

_Not down. Up._

But she was surrounded by water. “I don't know where up is”, she wept frightened.

 _Up is down_ , replied the voice.

So Sansa looked down and saw the mountains of the North. She saw the Wall stretching across the land, a silent monument of ice. She saw the towers of Winterfell.

 _You have to go there_ , urged the voice.

“I can't”, replied Sansa. “I don't know how to get there. I don't know where I am.”

_You are where you should be. Trust me. Close your eyes now..._

Sansa trusted the voice. She closed her eyes.

 

***

 

Years later she woke up. She was still floating.

 _Rise_ , said the voice again.

“No”, Sansa complained. “I don't know how.”

 _Be free like a bird_ , told her the voice.

Sansa felt already free. Nothing held her back. She just floated and was. She didn't want it to end. “I _am_ free”, she told the voice.

_But you are not yet a bird._

“I don't want to be a bird”, Sansa pleaded. “I don't want to grow wings.”

 _There are different kinds of birds_ , mused the voice. _You will never have wings, but you will be a bird. Close your eyes now..._

 

***

 

Centuries had passed. She was still floating.

 _Rise_ , said the voice again. _Leave the water. You have to._

“I am part of the water now”, Sansa protested. She liked being part of the water. It was so mellow and peaceful.

 _But water is also strong and mighty_ , reminded her the voice. _Water can carve rocks and tear down obstacles. It never goes away. Water is relentless and resilient. And you are water. Now rise._

“But how can I rise out of the water if I am water?”, Sansa asked.

 _Water comes in many forms_ , explained the voice. _It is rain and ice and snow. You may be water now, but you will be ice soon._

“How?”, whispered Sansa.

 _You are Winter herself,_ promised the voice. _Don't close your eyes now. Rise... We are waiting for you._

 


	12. Petyr

Petyr still looked in horror at the place Sansa had stood just moments ago. He was completely frozen. _Has she really just jumped over board? Or maybe she just went under deck? Or set up a new board of cyvasse?_

Then he heard Talla scream. Quenton shouted: “Man overboard! Halt the ship! Look for her! Don't leave her behind!”

The men of his crew dropped what they were doing immediately and ran to the railing to look for Sansa. Two men got the small dinghy ready. Petyr felt as though his feet had grown into the ground. He could not move.

“Out of the way!”, yelled Quenton and shoved him aside.

His men lowered the dinghy into the water. Quenton and Marton jumped into it and rowed hastily towards the place Sansa had vanished. Everyone else was hectic halting the ship, taking down the sails and dropping the anchor.

Suddenly Petyr became aware that Talla was still crying. He had never cared for people who were so overpowered by their emotions that they were unable to do anything. But when he looked at Talla, so frightened for her friend, he understood her. To force himself to finally do something, spring into action like the rest of his crew, he walked towards her and took her in his arms.

“Hush”, he whispered. “It will be alright. They will find her.”

Talla clenched in his arms. She tried to squirm free at first, but Petyr held her firmly until she relaxed and let her head sink on his chest. She was shaking heavily with sobs. Petyr held her close and stroked her head to comfort her.

“Shhhh... It will be alright. Don't be scared, sweetling...”

 _Sweetling_. Had he really just said that? Petyr was shocked with himself. It was Sansa's name, only hers. It felt so wrong addressing someone else like that, much too intimate. What was he doing here, holding that crying girl? He had to know what was happening.

“Stop your whining”, he commanded Talla and pushed her away from him. “Make yourself useful.”

He rushed towards the railing and looked down to see Quenton and Marton pull a small, lifeless figure out of the water. Was that Sansa? The figure looked so frail. She had none of Sansa's grace. But the face was the same, only it was rigid and frozen where Sansa's face had been so warm and full of life.

_She jumped because of me._

Petyr's heart felt heavy. He had been so furious at her for fooling him. But in his heart he knew that he had let her do it. She had worn the dangerous dress, and he had been tempted by it and lusted after her. And then he had lied to her and told her he didn't care about her, just to hurt her. She had jumped because of him. And he had been so petrified that he hadn't even been able to help his men rescue her. Instead he had calmed that stupid young girl, Talla. _What a mighty pirate you are,_ snarled a voice in his head.

The men rowed back towards the ship and the dinghy was heaved up. Petyr rushed towards it and took Sansa's cold, lifeless body into his arms. He dropped to the floor and felt her pulse. It was there, but very faint. And she was so cold... Petyr wrapped his arms around her and tried to warm her, to rub heat back into her until she would wake up.

Sansa suddenly started coughing. Water spilled out of her mouth and she had difficulty breathing. Petyr looked at her, so frail in his arms, but he held her firmly for fear she might vanish.

“Just breathe, sweetling. Easy”, he whispered. “Just breathe...”

After a while Sansa stopped coughing and breathed regularly. But she was still unconscious. Petyr continued rubbing her warm.

“We have to get her out of her clothes”, said Marton. “She'll die of the cold if she stays in this damp dress. Captain, please let go of her so we can bring her to her cabin and Talla can change her clothes. The girl will wake up soon enough.”

Petyr barely heard him. He did not want to let her go.

“No”, he finally said, brushing Marton's arms away. “I'll bring her to her cabin myself.”

Ignoring the staring sailors standing around him, he picked Sansa up and carried her below deck. She was so light and fragile in his arms. He carried her straight to his cabin and softly laid her on his bed.

Petyr gently lifted Sansa's arms and dragged the cold, damp dress off her. _Just get it away so she'll be warm again,_ he thought frantically.

The dress was off now. Suddenly Petyr realized what he had done. _She's naked except for her smallclothes._ He quickly looked away, almost surprised he hadn't thought about the consequences of his actions sooner, and covered Sansa with his blanket.

Gods, how many times had he imagined what was under her dress? How many nights had he dreamed of undressing her? But he had never imagined it like this. He had always thought she would be conscious and thirsty for his looks, his hands, his tongue... He didn't want to take advantage of her now. _That doesn't mean you can't catch a glimpse_ , the voice in his head tempted.

 _No_ , Petyr thought firmly. _Don't look now. Be honorable._ He forced his gaze away from her, got up and went into Sansa's cabin to find a new dress for her to wear. When he came back to his cabin Sansa was still lying naked in his bed. _Gods, not this again..._ He made sure Sansa was completely covered with the blanket and carefully put her arms through the sleeves. Then he lifted up her upper body to pull the dress over her head... and the blanket slid. Petyr couldn't stop himself. He caught a glimpse of her breasts, so firm and lush and wet. _Good gods..._ His breath became rugged and faster as he felt his cock stiffening. With gritted teeth he forced himself to pull her dress down and pushed the image aside. _For now... You can dwell on it tonight._

When he had finally gotten her into the new dress, he pulled the blanket over her body again and looked at her face. Even now, with purple lips and pale skin, she was beautiful. Petyr leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. “Wake up soon, sweetling”, he whispered in her ear.

Later Petyr went back on deck and talked to Quenton. “Tell the men to change course”, he commanded. “We're not going to King's Landing.”

 


	13. Sansa

She was still floating.

 _Rise, rise_ , urged the voice. _Do it now._

So Sansa rose.

 

***

 

A wonderful scent tickled her nose. It was the scent of the sea and the sun and a hint of mint. She didn't know what it was, but she knew she wanted to smell it for the rest of her life.

Sansa slowly opened her eyes. Where was she? Everything was a blur. She looked around and saw a man sitting at a desk. He had his back to her. Was that Petyr? Was she in Petyr's cabin? It took Sansa's eyes a while to focus. It really was him. That meant she was in his cabin. And the bed she was lying in... a wave of excitement coursed through her body. _I am lying in Petyr's bed._ It was too much, too fast. A blinding pain shot through her head and she let out a faint moan.

Petyr turned around and rushed to her side. He sat next to her on the bed and gently took her face into his hands.

“You're awake”, he whispered, and his voice was filled with relief. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on her forehead. Sansa could feel the touch of his lips burning on her skin long after.

Why was he kissing her? Why was he so relieved? Sansa was confused. Her head was buzzing in pain. She couldn't remember what had happened. She had been asleep for so long... She looked around the room and saw a board of _cyvasse_ , and memories flooded into her head.

_He beat me in cyvasse._

_He wanted to bring me to King's Landing._

_He wanted to take me to Cersei._

_I jumped..._

_I have to run._

Sansa tried to get up, but her limbs were weak, and she was so tired. She fell back into the pillows and was embraced by their wonderful scent again...

Petyr had noticed she was trying to get up and had supported her head as she fell. Now he was looking at her, and Sansa noticed with wonder that his smile finally reached his grey-green eyes.

“Easy there, sweetling”, he murmured. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Water”, croaked Sansa. She hadn't realized how thirsty she was before.

Petyr got up and fetched a glass of water. Then he helped her sit up. A flash of pain shot through her head again. She almost slipped into unconsciousness, so much did it hurt. And her whole body still felt so tired. Sansa grit her teeth in pain as tears welled up in her eyes, but she was too weak to fight them back. So she cried softly.

Petyr took her in his arms and gently rocked her back and forth. Sansa wanted to push him away, to free herself from his touch, but only succeeded in pressing herself more tightly against him. Again her nose was filled by this wonderful scent. _The sea and the sun and a hint of mint..._

“Hush, sweetling”, Petyr whispered. He stood up and came back with a small vial that he poured into her glass. It was milk of the poppy. The white liquid soon dissolved. „Drink this. It will ease the pain“, he ordered her.

Sansa tried to stay focused, to get away from him as far as possible. _Run Sansa, run away. From him. From King's Landing._ But the pain in her head pushed aside every rational thought she might have had. So she simply took the glass and drank.

 

***

 

When she woke up again, the pain was gone. Her head felt so light. Darkness surrounded her and filled the room. The only source of light came from a flickering candle on the desk where Petyr was sitting, lost in thought, writing a letter. So she was still lying in Petyr's bed. The realization made her giggle. How ridiculous... Gods, when had everything suddenly become so funny?

When Petyr heard her laugh, he turned around. He was so handsome. Why had she never noticed just how handsome he was? But he was. The fine lines around his eyes were so exquisite. _He has them because he's old._ She giggled again. But what if he was old? He still had full hair and a lean body...and he smelled so good. Suddenly she remembered how he had kissed her. It made her laugh uncontrollably.

Petyr chuckled, got up and sat next to her on the bed. Then he raised his hand and gently tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. His touch burned on her skin. It was wicked and so, so funny. She laughed again.

“I see the milk of the poppy has had its effect on you, my lady”, Petyr noted dryly.

“Why aren't you calling me sweetling?”, Sansa slurred. She had always liked it when he called her that, even if she had never admitted it to herself, but now the lightness in her head made her bold enough to say it.

Petyr smiled. “Sweetling, then. Are you feeling better now?”

She was. Everything was better now, everything was light and easy and so amusing. But she wanted to tease him and play with him and answered, “No. I feel horrible. I haven't been kissed in such a long time...” She pouted her lips like a defiant child.

Petyr didn't respond. Instead he softly trailed his fingers over her hand and arm, up and down and up again. It made Sansa's arm tingle and she shuddered. It was not funny any more. She leaned closer to find his lips in the gloom, but he turned away from her.

“I have given you milk of the poppy, sweetling”, he whispered with a sad tone in his voice. “You don't really want this.”

“Yes, I do”, protested Sansa and reached out to touch him, take hold of his face, pull him closer. _Kiss me, kiss me hard._ But he stood up.

“No, sweetling”, he said firmly. “You need to rest. We have a long trip before us. And you wouldn't want this after what I've done...”

Sansa remembered now. _We are on our way to King's Landing._ The realization hit hard. _I have to run._ She pushed him away and stumbled across the room. But the door was locked. She frantically tried to open it, but it wouldn't move. A wave of darkness washed over her and she felt her knees give in, but Petyr was there, catching her before she fell. _No, no, don't touch me, let me go,_ she screamed inside her head, but she was too exhausted to even whisper it out loud. So she let Petyr carry her to his bed and gently lay her down. And as Sansa was surrounded by the wonderful scent of his sheets again, she almost didn't mind being here.

Petyr took Sansa hand and entangled his fingers in hers, but she pulled it away angrily. “I hate you”, she spat, but it felt like a lie.

Petyr sighed deeply. His eyes became distant. “I know, sweetling. But believe me when I tell you, you have made me regret my actions the minute you jumped over board. I was so frightened you might drown...” He shook his head. “I won't take you to King's Landing now. As soon as you get better you can tell me where you want to go and I'll take you there. And then you'll never have to see me again.”

Sansa expected to be relieved, but she wasn't. Maybe it was the milk of the poppy, but when she looked at Petyr, this handsome man with the faint lines around his eyes and the salt-and-pepper hair, she still yearned for his touch. _What are you doing, you foolish girl?_ She knew she had to despise him for everything he had done, but she just couldn't. The thought of never seeing him again made her heart feel heavy.

“What if I don't want that?”, she whispered before she could stop herself. She could barely see him in the dim light of the candle, but she was thankful for the darkness. She was frightened what he would say and she didn't want him to see the fear in her face. “What if I want to stay with you?”

She could feel him move next to her and she silently begged him to come closer, to touch her again, but he got up and stood with his back towards her.

“It's the milk of the poppy talking”, reminded her Petyr. “You won't even remember tonight come morning.”

Gods, why had he said that again? Sansa felt the effect of the milk of the poppy, but she also felt something that was deeper than that, something that had been there since he had kissed her or maybe even longer, something that made her get up now and stand behind him. _Don't do it, don't be so foolish. Don't you remember what he's done? You jumped because of him. Go, go, leave him, it's the only safe choice,_ warned her mind, but her heart beat so loud that it drowned the cautious voice out. Sansa couldn't stop herself.

“I want to stay with you”, she whispered and wrapped her arms around him. Gods, he smelled so good. Sansa could feel the heat of his body radiating towards her and she nestled herself closer, clinging to his back, feeling his muscles through their clothes. He was a man, not some spoiled prince who was vicious and cruel, and Sansa wanted to be with him, touch him, kiss him... She had never wanted a man like this before and it frightened and confused her beyond belief, but it wasn't enough to hold her back. She had to have him.

Slowly she let her hands wander over his body and felt his chest, moved them down over his hips and then back up. She didn't dare go any further down. Petyr's breath began to speed up as he put his hands on hers and held them tight.

For a while they just stood there, he still turned away from her, stiff, unmoving, she with her face still buried in his back. She could feel his chest rise as he took deep, fast breaths, and the sound was like music to her ears.

As Petyr finally, slowly turned around, the candle burned out.

It was completely dark now. Sansa sensed Petyr's hands carefully reach for her in the darkness, and when they found her, they gripped her face gently but firmly and lifted it up towards him. She could feel his breath on her lips and every soft breeze burned on her skin. She knew he would kiss her soon and her body began to tremble, but nothing happened. So she raised her hands and clumsily grabbed for him, pulling him closer towards her. She let her fingers trail over his back and towards his neck and buried them in his soft hair. She gently gave his head a light push, just as he had when they had first kissed, urging him to come closer and finally put his lips on hers. She heard him exhale sharply, and it was such a luscious sound that a moan escaped her lips. And as she was standing there in the darkness, waiting for her pirate to kiss her, she felt happier than she had ever thought she could be.

But nothing happened. Sansa pulled his head stronger now in frustration, but he gently grabbed her hands, took them away, and stepped back.

“Forgive me, sweetling”, Petyr whispered, defeated. “It's the milk of the poppy...”

A wave of fury rushed through her veins. She wanted this, she wanted him, _needed_ him, but he had turned away and she couldn't see him in the darkness. So she desperately took a step forward, hoping she would feel him again and vowing she would kiss him as soon as she did. When her body shoved into his, it surprised him so much that he took a step back. But she didn't let got and pushed herself against him, urging him further, until they hit the wall. Petyr exhaled sharply and let out a deep groan, but he didn't fight back. Instead he grabbed her shoulders and swirled her around, and now it was him pressing her against the wall with the full weight of his body.

“Did you really think I would let you do that?”, he whispered into her ear. “It's not suitable for a highborn lady like you to overpower a man like that.” The sound of his voice made Sansa flush and shiver. She felt for his body in the dark and hungrily ran her hands through his hair and over his back. She had to touch him, feel him... But again he grabbed her hands and took them away.

This time, he didn't let go. Instead he entangled his fingers in hers, lifted her hands over her head and pinned them against the wall behind her. She was completely powerless now, but gods, how much that made her heart race... Petyr pushed himself against her with such force that all air escaped her lungs, and when he finally kissed her her knees almost gave in. Sansa gasped.

It was so different from the first time they had kissed. He didn't ease her in, he just pressed his lips on hers and _devoured_ her, sending waves of fervent lust through her with every skilled flick of his tongue, all the while pressing against her and holding her hands over her head. _He is going to leave a bruise on my wrists..._ But she didn't care.

Sansa could have drowned in this kiss. It was simply breathtaking, the way his body pinned her against the wall with such rough force, the way his tongue made her forget everything around her until all she felt was the heat radiating from Petyr's body...

She tried to move her hands, but he just grabbed them more firmly, and that made Sansa feel so wicked that her loud moan was only muffled by his mouth. _Please Petyr, more... I need more._

After a while Petyr's mouth moved away from her swollen lips, and now he was kissing her chin, her neck, her shoulders, hungrily and eagerly, and every kiss left her more dissolved than the last. Suddenly she felt something pressing into her groin, and her mind raced. Was that his...? She couldn't even bring herself to think it, but it had to be. The thought made her heart flutter even faster. Gods, she had never known it would feel like that, so hard and firm, but it felt so good pressed against her body... _He must really want me,_ was all she could think before a warm and pulsating feeling spread between her leg. This feeling was nothing like she ever felt before, but oh, now it was all she could think about. She squirmed and pressed her hips into his groin, feeling him groan into her neck. She wanted him to touch the heat between her legs and make her feel it even more, but he was still kissing her shoulders and had her hands pressed against the wall.

Forcefully she wrenched free, longing to touch him, to feel every inch of him. Her hands trailed down over his back and then around his hip. She dared herself to let her hands wander even further. _I want to feel his cock,_ she thought to herself, and just thinking that words made her feel so bold... So she slowly moved her hands towards the bulge in his pants. She felt the fabric stretch the closer she came to his manhood. But when she was almost there, her hands trembling, her breath sped up, when she had almost reached him, he suddenly broke off the kiss and pulled her hand away.

Petyr took a deep breath and even in the dark Sansa knew he was trying the hardest to win back control over the situation.

“No”, he finally whispered, but the coarseness in his voice proved him a liar.

“Yes”, replied Sansa and tried to touch him again, desperately feeling for him in the darkness, yearning for his touch.

“Sweetling, stop”, Petyr ordered, “It's the milk of the poppy, you don't know what you're doing...”

Why did he keep saying that? Sansa felt the rage rise in her. Gods, she was so furious at herself. She had known how foolish it was to want him, but she had kissed him anyway, and he had kissed her back, and in that moment everything had felt so right... But now he had turned away from her and she felt like a stupid young girl again.  _ How could he want you? You're a foolish child _ , the voice in her head riled.  _ He doesn't need you, you callow little girl. He wants real women who know how to handle a man...  _ The voice was right, and it hurt so much. Red-hot anger burned inside her and made her shake, and she shoved him aside and ran across the room. This time the door wasn't locked and Sansa slammed it with a loud bang behind her as she fled to her cabin.


	14. Petyr

_ What a night.  _ Petyr sighed as the memories of last night took hold of him again. He still couldn't believe he had found it in him to break the kiss and push Sansa away, but he knew it had been the right choice.  _ She didn't know what she was doing. I gave her milk of the poppy and she could not think straight. She probably doesn't even remember it happened, _ he had to remind himself for the hundredth time.

But it was not just that. Everything had gotten so complicated since the girl had come into his life. He could feel his thoughts circling back to her more and more each day. And that was dangerous. It had always been his devise to plan ahead, envision his next steps long before they were due, and over the past days he had been so busy worrying about Sansa that he hadn't given much thought about the letter his raven had brought him. The change was long overdue.

Now he sat on deck and unrolled the scroll again. Maybe this time it would make more sense to him.

 

_ Jon Snow, bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, has been voted 998 _ _ th _ _ Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. He has opened the realm to wildlings fleeing from an army of dead that is approaching the Wall. Some say he is foolish, others praise his courage to do what is right in this time of peril. _

_I also heard the glass candles of the Citadel are burning. I don't know what it means, but maybe you can make something of it._

 

Petyr had eyes and ears everywhere and they always informed him about what was happening in the realm, but he had never gotten a letter like this. This letter raised more questions than it answered. But maybe Sansa would want to know her brother Jon was doing well...  _ If she still wants to talk to me after everything that happened last night _ . Petyr wasn't sure how much she would remember. He wasn't sure what he wanted her to remember either...  _ Gods, not this again. Stop thinking of that girl. Focus on the letter. _

So he read it again.  _ An army of dead...  _ The phrase had haunted him ever since he had first read it. He didn't have a clue what it meant. He recalled stories he had heard as a child, about the Others and the children of the forest and other mystical creatures, but these were only tales to frighten children, weren't they? Maybe Sansa knew about these stories, too. She was from the North after all, and she must have grown up with the myths of her country. Petyr wondered if they had frightened her as a child.  _ You're doing it again, _ sneered the voice in his head,  _ You're thinking of her. How well your plan to ignore her has worked out so far! _

He shook his head decidedly. It was no use thinking about the letter. He would have to wait for his raven to return. Shortly after he had gotten the mysterious message he had written a letter to a friend in Hornwood and asked about the army of dead, and maybe he could tell him more about what was happening beyond the Wall. He would just have to wait for the bird to return.

The glass candles, however... That was intriguing. Petyr was fortunate enough to have some books on board, and in one of them he had found a small notion:  _ The burning of the glass candles is believed to be a _ _sign that magic is becoming stronger. However, the last time they burned was over a hu_ _ ndred years ago. _

Magic again... Suddenly he was reminded of the red comet. Had it really been a sign of dragons? It had been so easy to seduce Sansa with this magical story, and she had been so excited that he had almost believed it himself. But now it all seemed so impossible... There had to be a different explanation for the recent events.

Absent-mindedly he stared at the horizon and was surprised to see a dark shadow coming nearer and nearer. His raven had returned.

Petyr quickly took the parchment from the bird's leg and threw it some corn. He couldn't wait to read the message.

 

_ I'm afraid the army of dead is real. I talked to a deserter from the Night's watch only yesterday, and he told me he saw a tall creature,  _ _gaunt, white, and with piercing bright blue eyes. It must have been an Other. More and more people come forward with similar stories every day. I don't know how much Lord Commander Snow knows, but he has opened the Wall for wildlings and moved them into the Gift. The situation is dire as provisions are scarce._

_There are whispers the Others can be defeated by dragonglass. One of the crows told me of a man called Sam the Slayer who claims he's killed one. If that really is the case, and I don't know if it is, it's not much help. Dragonglass is very rare._

 

Petyr sighed.  _ The army of dead is real... they can be defeated by dragonglass... Dragonglass...  _ Where had he heard that word before? He quickly walked towards his cabin and got out the books Illyrio had given him. Something had to be written about it somewhere.

After a while he found what he had been searching for. It was written in a book about the Targaryen dynasty:

 

_The island of Dragonstone was the original seat of House Targaryen in Westeros before they rose to power. During the reign of the Targaryens the island was used as seat to their immediate heir, known as the prince of Dragonstone. After Robert's rebellion it became seat of House Baratheon of Dragonstone._

_Most sinister looking, the active volcano Dragonmont towers over the island. Large deposits of dragonglass are located under Dragonmont and the dungeons of the old fortress still hold a supply of raw material._

 

Petyr smiled.  _ Looks like we've found our new heading. _


	15. Sansa

Sansa remembered everything that had happened the night before, and the memory still made her tremble whenever she thought of it. But it also made her furious. Since she had gotten on this stupid ship with Petyr, she had been just as naive and foolish as she had been as a child. He had kissed her once under the light of the red comet, and ever since then she had not stopped thinking about it.

She should have known better. It had been the same with Joffrey. Just the thought of him being a sweet, sweet prince and one gentle smile of his had made her blind to his cruelty for so long. She had lied for him and they had killed Lady, but she still hadn't seen who he truly was. When her father had told her he wanted to leave King's Landings she had not trusted him but instead run to Cersei and told her everything. Sansa knew it was her fault her father was killed, only hers, and she would have to live with that knowledge for the rest of her life.

And now she had made the same mistake again. One sweet kiss from Petyr had made her trust him and come with him. Gods, how miserable she had felt the week after they had left Pentos! She had dreamed of his windswept salt-and-pepper hair, his soft lips and the color of his eyes, like the sea after a storm...

She had wanted to talk to him so badly and had found so many excuses for him when he had ignored her. Sansa had even befriended Talla just so she could teach her how to play  _ cyvasse.  _ Because all she had cared about was that Petyr liked to play it. And then it had taken her days to come up with the courage to ask him to play a game with her... And in the end he had been just as vicious and cruel as Joffrey.

_ No _ , she vowed,  _ no more Petyr. Don't even think about him any more.  _ Sansa took three deep breaths and calmed herself. She had not talked to Talla since before her jump, and a chat with her friend was long overdue.

Sansa found her sitting on deck doing needlework. When Talla looked up and saw her, she leapt to her feet and ran towards her. “Alayne! Oh gods, I was so scared! I am so happy you are awake now!”

Sansa was so relieved that her friend was happy to see her. She flung her arms around her and did not let go for a long time.

“Oh, Alayne, I was so frightened”, confessed Talla as soon as they had let go of each other. “When you jumped... And Captain Baelish let no one see you while you were unconscious. I prayed to the Mother and the Father, even the Stranger, that you would wake up...”

Sansa took Talla's hands in hers and smiled at her. “I'm sure your prayers helped a lot. Thank you.”

Talla looked at her for a while and her face reflected her struggle to come up with the next words. She took a deep breath and asked, “But why did you jump, Alayne?”

Sansa sighed. Should she tell Talla the truth? Where would she even start?  _ Just start at the beginning,  _ the voice in her head said. So Sansa began.

“My name is not Alayne, my name is Sansa Stark of Winterfell...”

Sansa talked for hours. She told Talla about everything that had happened to her since her father had been named Hand of the King, how she had been betrothed to marry Joffrey but he had cast her aside, how Cersei had schemed to marry her to Ramsay Bolton, and how she had run away. She talked about her brothers and her sister and her best friend Jeyne and how much she had enjoyed riding through the summer snow during the carefree years she had spent in Winterfell.

It felt so good to finally be able to tell someone the truth, and Sansa left nothing out. Talla listened intently and asked the perfect amount of questions, and when Sansa told her about burning down Winterfell to mock her own death, Talla had tears in her eyes.

Night had fallen when Sansa was finished. Talla wordlessly took her in her arms and held her for a while, and they sat there in perfect silence.

_ How lucky I am to have a friend like her _ , Sansa thought. Sharing her story had made her focus again. She had come to Gulltown with a plan, but Petyr had made her forget all about it... Now she knew again what she had to do.

Talla and Sansa stayed up for a little longer, but it was already late and they were both tired. It had been a long day. So they said goodnight and Talla went to her cabin. Sansa waited until she heard her lock the door and then turned left. Without knocking, she entered Petyr's cabin.

He was sitting at his desk again, as always, with his back to her, but he heard her come it. The flash of surprise in his face was soon replaced by his usual unreadable expression. He looked at her and waited for her to speak.

“Captain Baelish”, began Sansa. She couldn't call him Petyr after everything, she wanted to keep some distance between them. “I recall that you offered to take me wherever I want to go. I would appreciate it if you could take me to White Harbor.”

Gods, it sounded so formal, but she needed to hide behind her mask of courtesy. It had been her most useful armor in King's Landing.  _ Don't let him near. Stay away from him. He's dangerous. _

Petyr was still for a moment before he broke into an unconvincing smile. “I shall, my lady. But you must forgive me that I must make another stop before. It will only be a small detour. Then I'm taking you back to the North.”

Sansa waited for him to tell her where he wanted to go first, but he did not. Of course... It would have surprised her if he had. So she simply said, “Thank you”, made a small curtsy and turned around to leave.

“ _Seven hells_ ”, Petyr exclaimed. “Did you just make a curtsy? I had thought we were past these formalities.”

Sansa turned around with the most grace she could muster. “Courtesy is never a formality, Captain Baelish. It is a sign of respect.”

Petyr snorted and almost choked on the wine he was drinking. “You are a foolish young girl, Sansa Stark, do you know that? What use was your courtesy in King's Landing? Did they treat you the way they treated you because you were so damn respectful? Courtesy is worth nothing. What matters is power.”

“Courtesy can be a woman's power, Captain Baelish”, Sansa responded. Her thoughts trailed off for a while before she added, “They would have killed me had I been more defiant.”

Petyr looked at Sansa, but he didn't answer. His grey-green eyes seemed to drink in the color of her hair. The black dye was almost washed out now and her waves shimmered auburn in the candlelight. He let his gaze wander over her body like he had so many times before, and again it made Sansa's heart beat faster. This time she hated herself for it.

Petyr pointed at the chair next to him. “Sit.” It was not a request.

Sansa was about to walk to the chair and sit. But something held her back: She didn't want to sit. So she simply looked at Petyr, pouted her lips and said, “No.”

The anger and confusion washed over Petyr's face before he could hide it. Sansa was speechless. Was that her doing? Had this little word, her word, really made him lose control over the situation like that?

“What do you mean, _no_? Hear, hear”, Petyr finally sneered. “Lady Sansa Stark, courteous no longer.” His initial anger now seemed mixed with reluctant admiration.

Sansa gave him a sly smile and arched her eyebrows. “I have decided to reserve my courtesy for men who deserve it. Good night, Captain Baelish.” She didn't wait for his response and slammed the door behind her.

 

***

 

Sansa's heart was still racing when she reached her cabin. She could not believe how bold she had been! Her septa would have been so angry with her. But the look on Petyr's face... Sansa couldn't help but giggle as she thought about it again.  _ Sansa Stark, courteous no longer.  _ It made her feel more alive than she had in years.

Her laughter was interrupted by a soft knock on her door. Before Sansa could get up and open it, the door flung open and Petyr rushed towards her.  _ Oh no, I made him furious. He will hurt me, _ Sansa thought frantically.  _ There was a reason for my courtesy in King's Landing... _

Petyr reached Sansa in three long strides, but he didn't slow down. He pushed against her until she hit the wall, took her he head in both hands, jerked her face upwards, and kissed her with a fire that took Sansa's breath away. Sansa let out a gasp and shoved him away.

“What are you _doing_?”


	16. Sansa

Petyr straightened up. “The same thing you did last night, sweetling.”

Sansa felt her cheeks blush. She turned away abruptly. “Last night was different. You had given me milk of the poppy...”

Petyr said nothing for a while. The silence that surrounded them was only broken by his rugged breath. “But you wanted it too, didn't you?”, he finally asked.

Sansa didn't know what to say. Yes, she had wanted it, and it had had nothing to do with the milk of the poppy, but earlier she had vowed she would forget about Petyr and focus on her plan. Now he was in her cabin and it was so hard to focus on anything beside the ache in her heart. She was longing for his touch just like she had last night, maybe even more, because now she knew just how wonderful it felt. Sansa felt her breath speed up just thinking about it.  _ Focus, Sansa, focus. Don't let him near. _

So she forced herself to say, “No, I didn't want it. It was the milk of the poppy that made me do it... I behaved most unsuitable for a highborn lady like myself.”

Petyr laughed softly. His face was half-hidden in the shadows of the flickering candlelight. “You think you're a clever girl, don't you? Hiding behind your armor of courtesy to veil who you truly are. Tell me, was Alayne Stone your disguise, or is it Lady Sansa? Sometimes I don't know.” He took a step towards her and softly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Sansa's knees almost gave in when he touched her.  _ Oh gods, don't take your hand away... _

“This _is_ who I truly am, Captain Baelish”, she whispered, trying her best to sound adamant. “I am Lady Sansa of House Stark, princess of Winterfell and trueborn wardeness of the North.”

Petyr smiled at her ruefully. “And still you are on this ship, a thousand leagues away. Do you think you titles mean anything here? Oh, my sweet summer child...”

Sansa flinched. “I am  _ not _ a child”, she hissed. “And I am fairly certain you don't see me as one.”

For a while Petyr didn't say anything. He just looked at her with these deep, grey-green eyes of his as if he was seeing her for the first time. It made Sansa feel so beautiful.

“You are right”, Petyr finally admitted. “You're not a child, you're a woman. And a woman can make her own demands.” He stepped closer. “Demand me to stop and I'll stop.”

Sansa expected him to kiss her again, but he didn't. Instead he began softly trailing his fingers from her forehead over her temple towards her mouth. His touch burned on her skin. Sansa gasped. When his fingers finally moved over her lower lip, Sansa felt as if she was on fire.

“Do you want me to stop?”, Petyr asked calmly. The way he still had control over himself irritated Sansa beyond belief. And that inflamed her desire for him even more.

“No...”, she whispered, and the word was almost drowned by the soft moan that escaped her lips.

“As you wish, my lady.” Petyr moved even closer now and Sansa could feel his breath on her lips. _Please Petyr, kiss me,_ she begged silently, but he didn't. He buried his hands in her hair and began playing with it, all the while being close enough that Sansa could feel the heat radiating from his body.

Her head began to spin. Everything around her seemed to vanish until all that mattered was Petyr. He was so close now and yet so far away... The thought made her heart ache. Sansa slowly closed her eyes and leaned in, she just had to kiss Petyr, but he took a step back when he felt her stir under his hands.

“Do you want me to stop?”, he asked again. His voice was coarse with lust.

“No...”, Sansa whispered and moved towards him. She had to kiss this man, she had to kiss him now, but Petyr grabbed her shoulders and held her at arm's length. Sansa let out a frustrated sigh, and Petyr smiled.

“My lady, your behavior is most unsuitable”, he teased her. “A noble princess like you should not have to take what she wants like this.” He took her in his arms now and let his hands run over her body until they settled on her lower back.

“She should demand it.”

Sansa was shuddering under his hands. She was yearning for the touch of his lips on hers, yearning for the burning sensation his fingers left when they trailed over her body, yearning for the sweet ache she had felt between her legs last night... Petyr seemed to read her mind because his eyes darkened with lust as he looked at her.

“Kiss me”, Sansa whispered and closed her eyes.

Petyr leaned in and kissed her softly on the forehead. “Like this, my lady?”

Sansa couldn't speak, so much did she tremble. So she just shook her head. Petyr kissed her again, this time on the tip of her nose. “Like this, my lady?”

It was so frustrating, the way he toyed with her, but it made Sansa feel so wicked. She shook her head again and murmured, “You know where I want to be kissed...”

“As you wish, my lady.” Petyr softly took hold of her head and steadied her. _He will be rough._.. _But that's what I want_ , Sansa thought, and the anticipation sent a shiver through her entire body.

She had been right. When Petyr's lips finally met hers, they clung to her so fiercely that it almost hurt, but Sansa had never felt something sweeter. She let out a gasp, and as soon as her lips parted, his tongue flicked into her mouth and skilfully played with hers.

Sansa was trembling under his kiss. She let her hands run all over his body, frantically trying to touch every inch of him, and he moved so close that their bodies were now pressed against each other. The ache between her legs was even sweeter than it had been last night, and it was all Sansa could think about. She moved her hands over his chest, towards his hips, and then down to his manhood, hoping it would be as hard and firm as last night. But Petyr took a step back.

“Do you want me to stop?”, Petyr asked for the third time, still so inexplicably calm that it infuriated her.

“No...” Sansa moaned. “I want more...”

“You have to be more specific, my lady”, Petyr teased. “I am prepared to fulfill your every wish, but I have to know what it is you desire.”

Gods, Sansa knew he knew exactly what she meant. Her stomach fluttered.

“I want you...”, she whispered and felt herself blush.

Petyr slowly took her hands in his. He entangled his fingers in hers and tenderly moved them towards his mouth. His eyes did not leave hers while he softly kissed her every single digit. Every time his lips touched her skin was sweeter than the last.

Sansa was entirely lost in the moment and stood perfectly still, her eyes wide open and hungry for more. When Petyr reached her last finger, he gently closed his mouth around it and bit it playfully.

Sansa was so surprised she pulled her hand away.

Petyr looked amused. “Sweetling, we don't have to do this”, he said softly. “If you don't want me to...”

“No, I do”, Sansa answered eagerly, and it was true. She really wanted this, she wanted him more than ever. “I was just surprised. But I do... I want this...”

Oh gods, how much saying these words made her tremble. It was all so new, so exciting... She had heard about the wonders of love in songs and poems before, but she had never known how much she could yearn for a man's touch. Now it was all she could think about.

Petyr let his fingers slowly trail down Sansa's arms and took her hands again. Then he led her to the bed.

He didn't lie down, he only sat on the edge of it. Sansa was still standing in front of him, flushed and scarcely breathing, her locks wildly entangled around her face. Petyr looked at her seriously. “Do you trust me, Sansa?”

“I trust you”, whispered Sansa.

“Good”, Petyr said softly and pulled her on his lap. Sansa had never been on a bed with a man before. Her heart beat so loud she was sure he would hear it, but Petyr didn't say anything. Sansa felt her breath speed up. The thought of what would happen next frightened her, but that was nothing compared to how much she wanted it. Again Petyr's hands moved gently over her face, through her hair, and caressed every inch of her. His lips found hers, and he kissed her softly until she relaxed in his arms.

“Easy, sweetling”, Petyr murmured. “Tell me to stop and I'll stop. Don't be afraid.”

“I'm not afraid”, answered Sansa, more to convince herself than him.

Petyr slowly, carefully, let his hands wander to her back and found the laces of her dress. In one fluent move he pulled.

The right sleeve slid off Sansa's shoulder.

Sansa gasped in surprise. Her heart fluttered and she could feel herself blush again, but she didn't care. All she cared about was Petyr and the way his gaze wandered over her bare shoulder. She had never felt more beautiful in her entire life.

Petyr's eyes were dark with desire as they found hers. For a while they just looked at each other, and in this silence they shared volumes. He asked with a look, and Sansa slightly nodded.

Ever so gently Petyr kissed her bare shoulder, and each kiss was a promise of what was yet to come. He moved his way across her chest and slowly reached her other shoulder. With soft kisses, he moved the left sleeve aside until it slid off her shoulder as well. Sansa felt a sudden cold breeze and trembled as it mingled with the heat Petyr's kisses had left on her skin.

Petyr's hands moved over her back now and took hold of the dress. He pulled it down carefully until the fabric pooled around her hips. Sansa felt the chilly night air on her bare chest and shivered, but the heat coursing through her veins soon made her forget the cold.

Petyr's fingers slowly trailed over Sansa's face, neck, and shoulders, and Sansa felt herself dissolve under his touch. After a small eternity, he reached her breasts. At first he stroked them so softly that it almost tickled, then a little harder, until Sansa's nipples were hard and aching. Then he gave them a light pinch. The sensation shot through her like fire. Sansa gasped for air.

Petyr looked into her eyes and whispered, “Do you want me to stop?”

“No”, breathed Sansa and lifted her hands. She buried them in his soft, messy hair and leaned in to find his lips. The kiss tasted of promises and new beginnings.

Petyr's hands moved around her hips and firmly took hold of her derriere. Sansa was surprised when he lifted her up without breaking the kiss, but here, in Petyr's arms, she felt safer than she had in years. Petyr slowly turned around and laid Sansa on the bed. When the sheets embraced her, she knew it had all led to this night, this moment. Just him and her, alone in this world. She was meant to be here.

Petyr's hands moved down her front now, gently cupped a breast, teasingly stroked her nipples. When they reached her dress, still crumpled around her hips, he hesitated for a brief moment, as if he was waiting for Sansa to stop him, but that was the last thing she wanted. Sansa eagerly arched her back and lifted her hips, giving him the consent he desired, and Petyr pulled down her dress almost piously.

Sansa was naked except for her smallclothes now, and suddenly she was very aware of that. A sudden wave of shame washed over her, she couldn't help herself, this was too much, she felt too young, and she feebly tried to pull the blanket from under her to cover herself. Petyr saw what she was doing, shook his head slightly and softly took her hands in his. He leaned closer, planted a soft kiss on her lips, and whispered, “Hush, sweetling... I promise you, I won't hurt you.” For what seemed like hours he lightly trailed his fingers over her body until Sansa relaxed in his arms. After a while, he began brushing her body with his lips, and now Sansa felt herself aching again.

“More”, she breathed. As his kisses became more urgent, it became clear that he had waited for her to plead. Petyr moved down her front now, kissed her breasts and her stomach and her hip bone... _Don't stop now_ , Sansa thought frantically, _I don't want this to end..._ But before his lips could trail further down, he let go and sat up. Sansa moaned in frustration.

Petyr smiled and shook his head. “Tsk tsk tsk. My lady is eager”, he observed with a smirk. He grabbed his tunic and pulled it over his head with one fluent move. Sansa yelped before she could stop herself. A long, faint scar ran over his entire chest.

“How...” she whispered and raised a hand to touch it, but Petyr caught her by the wrist before she got too close. He suddenly had a very pained expression. “That's a story for another day, sweetling.”

Sansa only nodded, but her mind raced. Who had done this to him? It looked so painful. As if he had sensed what she thought, Petyr moved closer and kissed her. “Don't worry about it, sweetling”, he murmured in her ear. “It was a long time ago.”

And as his hands skilfully moved over her body, Sansa slowly forgot the scar. She forgot everything, everything but the way her skin burned after his touch. The ache between her legs was almost unbearable now. She wanted Petyr to touch her there, needed him to inflame her even more... And Petyr understood her faint moans and her rugged breath and slowly let his fingers trail further and further down, until he grabbed her smallclothes and removed them with a sudden tug. Oh, how sinful it felt when she finally lay naked before him, and how wonderfully wicked... Sansa eagerly lifted her hips to urge him to finally touch her, and Petyr complied. His hand slowly wandered closer and closer, through the curly hair between her thighs, and then, finally, he slid a finger inside her. Sansa thought she would die, so sweet was the feeling of his strong hand between her legs, but it was nothing compared to the first time he slowly moved his finger... Fervent heat coursed through her body and she grabbed the sheets, frantically trying to hold on to something, anything, a last bit of sanity. Petyr slid in and out of her a few times, and every time she felt his finger brought her closer to a feeling she didn't even know existed.

“Do you want me to stop?”; Petyr teased her again, and she desperately called _“No”_ before she could adjust the volume of her voice.

“As you wish, my lady”, Petyr whispered, but he slid his finger out and moved it slightly further up. Sansa wanted to gasp in protest. How could he have left her, now that she needed to feel him more than ever? But suddenly his fingers found something between her legs and played with it, and Sansa forgot everything she had thought before, everything she had ever been, until all she could focus on was that sweet, sweet ache between her legs. Heat radiated through her entire body and she soon moaned with every skilled flick of his fingers. Petyr adjusted his pace to her moans and moved faster now, and Sansa frantically gasped for air, so ardent was the feeling between her legs. Petyr didn't stop, and the fire grew more and more and more...

Sansa felt as if she would shatter. A blinding heat took hold of her, burying her under a wave of pure ecstasy. She desperately dug her nails deeper into the mattress to ride out whatever it was that was raging inside her. Her entire body was trembling, her face was flushed bright red and she was scarcely breathing. But the fire blazed on and on for what seemed like a small eternity. When she finally succumbed to the sensation, Sansa softly moaned Petyr's name.

As he gently wrapped her in his arms she couldn't help but laugh softly.

“Is this how it always is?”, she asked between two giggles.

Petyr chuckled. “Not for many highborn ladies, I'm afraid. They have to put their duty before pleasure.”

“I'm glad I'm not one of them”, Sansa whispered, and she knew how stupid it was because she was highborn too, but in that moment, in Petyr's arms, she didn't want to be Lady Stark, she just wanted to be a girl called Sansa. And she was.

Petyr held her and tenderly played with her hair until she had caught her breath again, and Sansa knew that there was no place she would rather be than in his arms. As the ship gently rocked her back and forth and Petyr's scent of mint and salt tickled her nose, she became more and more tired, and the last thing she thought before she fell asleep was how utterly happy she was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be super busy studying for finals from now on, so I don't know when I will be able to publish the next chapter. But I will definitely finish this story, I promise! Please be patient with me. :)
> 
> Thank you for all your comments, kudos, hits, and the wonderful friends I have made since I started writing A Flight of Birds. You are the best. 
> 
> xx


End file.
